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M 



THE SISTERS 

A ROMANCE 


BY 



Authorized Edition. 


NEW YORK . 

WILLIAM S. GOTTSBBRGER, PUBLISHER 

. 11 MURRAY STREET 

1883 


-^ 7 . 

I 




Copyright, 1880, by William S. Gottsberger. 


Published by authority of the 


Author and of Baron Tauchnitz. 

4 / 


PRESS OF 

WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERSER 
HEW YORK 



ktl^mry of Sufsieme Council AA,S.lif 

sm 


PREFACE. 


By a marvellous combination of circumstances a 
number of fragments of the Royal Archives of Mem- 
phis have been preserved from destruction with the rest, 
containing petitions written on papyrus in the Greek 
language; these were composed by a recluse of Mace- 
donian birth, living in the Serapeum, in behalf of two 
sisters, twins, who served the god as ‘‘ Pourers out of 
the libations.'^ 

At a first glance these petitions seem scarcely worthy 
of serious consideration; but a closer study of their 
contents shows us that we possess in them documents 
of the greatest value in the history of manners. They 
prove that the great Monastic Idea — which under the 
influence of Christianity grew to be of such vast moral 
and historical significance — first struck root in one of 
the centres of heathen religious practices ; besides afford- 
ing us a quite unexpected insight into the internal life 
of the temple of Serapis, whose ruined walls have, in 
our own day, been recovered from the sand of the des- 
ert by the indefatigable industry of the French Egypto- 
logist Monsieur Mariette. 

I have been so fortunate as to visit this spot and to 
search through every part of it, and the petitions I 
speak of have been familiar to me for years. When, 
however, quite recently, one of my pupils undertook to 
study more particularly one of these documents — pre- 


2 


PREFACE. 


served in the Royal Library at Dresden — I myself re- 
investigated it also, and this study impressed on my 
fancy a vivid picture of the Serapeum under Ptolemy 
Philometor; the outlines became clear and firm, and 
acquired color, and it is this picture which I have en- 
deavored to set before the reader, so far as words ad- 
mit, in the following pages. 

I did not indeed select for my hero the recluse, nor 
for my heroines the twins who are spoken of in the 
petitions, but others who might have lived at a some- 
what earlier date under similar conditions; for it is 
proved by the papyrus that it was not once only and 
by accident that twins were engaged in serving in the 
temple of Serapis, but that, on the contrary, pair after 
pair of sisters succeeded each other in the office t)f 
pouring out libations. 

I have not invested Klea and Irene with this func- 
tion, but have simply placed them as wards of the 
Serapeum and growing up within its precincts. I se- 
lected this alternative partly because the existing sources 
of knowledge give us very insufficient information as 
to the duties that might have been required of the twins, 
partly for other reasons arising out of the plan of my 
narrative. 

Klea and Irene are purely imaginary personages, | 
on the other hand I have endeavored, by working 
from tolerably ample sources, to give a faithful picture 
of the historical physiognomy of the period in which 
they live and move, and portraits of the two hostile 
brothers Ptolemy Philometor and Euergetes II., the 
latter of whom bore the nickname of Physkon: the 
Stout. The Eunuch Eulaeus and the Roman Publius 
Cornelius Scipio Nasica, are also historical personages. 


PREFACE. 


3 


I chose the latter from among the many young patri- 
cians living at the time, partly on account of the strong 
aristocratic feeling which he displayed, particularly in 
his later life, and partly because his nickname of Sera- 
pion struck me. This name I account for in my own 
way, although I am aware that he owed it to his re- 
semblance to a person of inferior rank. 

For the further enlightenment of the reader who is 
not familiar with this period of Egyptian history I may 
suggest that Cleopatra, the wife of Ptolemy Philometor 
— whom I propose to introduce to the reader — must 
not be confounded with her famous namesake, the be- 
loved of Julius Caesar and Mark Antony. The name 
Cleopatra was a very favorite one among the Lagides, 
and of the queens who bore it she who has become 
famous through Shakespeare (and more lately through 
Makart) was the seventh, the sister and wife of Ptolemy 
XIV. Her tragical death from the bite of a viper or 
asp did not occur until 134 years later than the date of 
my narrative, which I have placed 164 years B. C. 

At that time Egypt had already been for 169 years ^ 
subject to the rule of a Greek (Macedonian) dynasty, 
which owed its name as that of the Ptolemies or Lag- 
ides to its founder Ptolemy Soter, the son of Lagus.' 
This energetic man, a general under Alexander the 
Great, when his sovereign — 333 B.C. — had conquered 
the whole Nile Valley, was appointed governor of the 
new Satrapy; after Alexander’s death in 323 B.C., 
Ptolemy mounted the throne of the Pharaohs, and he 
and his descendants ruled over Egypt until after the 
death of the last and most famous of the Cleopatras, 
when it was annexed as a province to the Roman Em- 
pire. 


4 


PREFACE. 


This is not the place for giving a history of the suc- 
cessive Ptolemies, but I may remark that the assimila- 
ting faculty exercised by the Greeks over other nations 
was potent in Egypt; particularly as the result of the 
powerful influence of Alexandria, the capital founded 
by Alexander, which developed with wonderful rapidity 
to be one of the most splendid centres of Hellenic cult- 
ure and of Hellenic art and science. 

Long before the united rule of the hostile brothers 
Ptolemy Philometor and Euergetes — whose violent end 
will be narrated to the reader of this story — Greek in- 
fluence was marked in every event and detail of Egyp- 
tian life, which had remained almost unaffected by the 
characteristics of former conquerors — the Hyksos, the 
Assyrians and the. Persians; and, under the Ptolemies, 
the most inhospitable and exclusive nation of early an- 
tiquity threw open her gates to foreigners of every 
race. 

Alexandria was a metropolis even in the modern 
sense; not merely an emporium of commerce, but a 
focus where the intellectual and religious treasures of 
various countries were concentrated and worked up, and 
transmitted to all the nations that desired them. I 
have resisted the temptation to lay the scene of my 
story there, because in Alexandria the Egyptian element 
was too much overlaid by the Greek, and the too splen- 
did and important scenery and decorations might easily 
have distracted the reader’s attention from the dramatic 
interest of the persons acting. 

At that period of the Hellenic dominion which I 
have described, the kings of Egypt were free to com- 
mand in all that concerned the internal affairs of their 
kingdom, but the rapidly-growing power of the Roman 


PREFACE. 


5 


Empire enabled her to check the extension of their 
dominion, just as she chose. 

Philometor himself had heartily promoted the im- 
migration of Israelites from Palestine, and under him 
the important Jewish community in Alexandria acquired 
an influence almost greater than the Greek; and this 
not only in the city but in the kingdom and over their 
royal protector, who allowed them to build a temple 
to Jehovah on the shores of the Nile, and in his own 
person assisted at the dogmatic discussions of the Israel- 
ites educated in the Greek schools of the city. Euer- 
getes II., a highly gifted but vicious and violent man, 
was, on the contrary, just as inimical to them; he per- 
secuted them cruelly as soon as his brother’s death left 
him sole ruler over Egypt. His hand fell heavily even 
on the members of the Great Academy — the Museum, 
as it was called — of Alexandria, though he himself had 
been devoted to the grave labors of science, and he 
compelled them to seek a new home. The exiled sons 
of learning settled in various cities on the shores of the 
Mediterranean, and thus contributed not a little to the 
diffusion of the intellectual results of the labors in the 
Museum. 

Aristarchus, the greatest of Philometor’s learned 
contemporaries, has reported for us a conversation in 
the king’s palace at Memphis. The verses about ‘‘ the 
puny child of man,” recited by Cleopatra in chapter X., 
are not genuinely antique; but Friedrich Ritschl — the 
Aristarchus of our own days, now dead — thought very 
highly of them and gave them to me, some years ago, 
with several variations which had been added by an 
anonymous hand, then still in the land of the living. 
I have added to the first verse two of these, which, as 


6 


PREFACE. 


I learned at the eleventh hour, were composed by Herr 
H. L. von Held, who is now dead, and of whom fur- 
ther particulars may be learned from Varnhagen’s Bio- 
graphischen Denkmalen, Vol. VII. I think the reader 
will thank me for directing his attention to these charm- 
ing lines and to the genius displayed in the moral appli- 
cation of the main idea. Verses such as these might 
very well have been written by Callimachus or some 
other poet of the circle of the early members of the 
Museum of Alexandria.* 

I was also obliged in this narrative to concentrate^ 
in one limited canvas as it were, all the features which 


* These verses, translated in the text, run as follows • 


“ Sitzt das kleine Menschenkind 
An dem Ocean der Zeit, 

Schopft mit seiner kleinen Hand 
Tropfen aus der Ewigkeit 

“ Sitzt das kleine Menschenkind, 
Sammelt fliisternde Geriichte, 
Schreibt sie in ein kleines Buch 

Und dariiber : * Weltgeschichte.’ ” 


“ Schopfte nicht das kleine Menschenkind 
Tropfen aus dem Ocean der Zeit, 
Was geschieht, verwehte wie der Wind 
In den Abgrund oder Ewigkeit.” 


Tropfen aus dem Ocean der Zeit 

Schopft das Menschenkind mit kleiner Hand, 
Spiegelt doch dem Lichte zugewandt 
Sich da m die ganze Ewigkeit.” 


PREFACE. 


7 


were at once the conditions and the characteristics of a 
great epoch of civilization, and to give them form and 
movement by setting the history of some of the men 
then living before the reader, with its complications and 
its denouement. All the personages of my story grew 
up in my imagination from a study of the times in which 
they lived, but when once I saw them clearly in outline 
they soon stood before my mind in a more distinct form, 
like people in a dream ; I felt the poet’s pleasure in 
creation, and as I painted them their blood grew warm, 
their pulses began to beat and their spirit to take wings 
and stir, each in its appropriate nature. I gave history 
her due, but the historic figures retired into the back- 
ground beside the human beings as such ; the represen- 
tatives of an epoch became vehicles for a Human Ideal, 
holding good for all time; and thus it is that I venture 
to offer this transcript of a period as really a dramatic 
romance. 

Leipzig November 13, 1879. 

Georg Ebers. 


» 4 




THE SISTERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

On the wide, desert plain of the Necropolis of 
Memphis stands the extensive and stately pile of mason- 
ry which constitutes the Greek temple of Serapis; by 
its side are the smaller sanctuaries of Asclepios, of An- 
ubis and of Astarte, and a row of long, low houses, 
built of unburnt bricks, stretches away behind them as 
a troop of beggar children might follow in the train of 
some splendidly attired king. 

The more dazzlingly brilliant the smooth, yellow 
sandstone walls of the temple appear in the light of the 
morning sun, the more squalid and mean do the dingy 
houses look as they crouch in the outskirts. When the 
winds blow round them and the hot sunbeams fall upon 
them, the dust rises from them in clouds as from a dry 
path swept by the gale. Even the rooms inside are 
never plastered, and as the bricks are of dried Nile-mud 
mixed with chopped straw, of which the sharp little 
ends stick out from the wall in every direction, the sur- 
face is as disagreeable to touch as it is unpleasing to 
look at. When they were first built on the ground be- 
tween the temple itself and the wall which encloses the 
precincts, and which, on the eastern side, divides the 
acacia-grove of Serapis in half, they were concealed 
from the votaries visiting the temple by the back wall 


lO 


THE SISTERS. 


of a colonnade on the eastern side of the great fore- 
court; but a portion of this colonnade has now fallen 
down, and through the breach, part of these modest 
structures are plainly visible with their doors and win- 
dows opening towards the sanctuary — or, to speak more 
accurately, certain rudely constructed openings for look- 
ing out of or for entering by. Where there is a door 
there is no window, and where a gap in the wall serves 
for a window, a door is dispensed with; none of the 
chambers, however, of this long row of low one-storied 
buildings communicate with each other. 

A narrow and well-trodden path leads through the 
breach in the wall ; the pebbles are thickly strewn with 
brown dust, and the footway leads past quantities of 
blocks of stone and portions of columns destined for 
the construction of a new building which seems only to 
have been intermitted the night before, for mallets and 
levers lie on and near the various materials. This path 
leads directly to the little brick houses, and ends at a 
small closed wooden door so roughly joined and so ill- 
hung that between it and the threshold, which is only 
raised a few inches above the ground, a fine gray cat 
contrives to squeeze herself through by putting down 
her head and rubbing through the dust. As soon as 
she finds herself once more erect on her four legs she 
proceeds to clean and smooth her ruffied fur, putting up 
her^back, and glancing with gleaming eyes at the house 
she has just left, behind which at this moment the sun 
is rising; blinded by its bright rays she turns away and 
goes on with cautious and silent tread into the court of 
the temple. 

The hovel out of which pussy has crept is small 
and barely furnished; it would be perfectly dark too, 


THE SISTERS. 


II 


but that the holes in the roof and the rift in the door 
admit light into this most squalid room. There is noth- 
ing standing against its rough gray walls but a wooden 
chest, near this a few earthen bowls stand on the ground 
with a wooden cup and a gracefully wrought jug of pure 
and shining gold, which looks strangely out of place 
among such humble accessories. Quite in the back- 
ground lie two mats of woven bast, each covered with 
a sheepskin. These are the beds of the two girls who- 
inhabit the room, one of whom is now sitting on a low 
stool made of palm-branches, and she yawns as she be- 
gins to arrange her long and shining brown hair. She 
is not particularly skilful and even less patient over 
this not very easy task, and presently, when a fresh tan- 
gle checks the horn comb with which she is dressing it, 
she tosses the comb on to the couch. She has not 
pulled it through her hair with any haste nor with much 
force, but she shuts her eyes so tightly and sets her 
white teeth so firmly in her red dewy lip that it might 
be supposed that she had hurt herself very much. 

A shuffling step is now audible outside the door; 
she opens wide her tawny-hazel eyes, that have a look 
of gazing on the world in surprise, a smile parts her lips 
and her whole aspect is as completely changed as that 
of a butterfly which escapes from the shade into the 
. sunshine where the bright beams are reflected in the 
metallic lustre of its wings. 

A hasty hand knocks at the’ ill-hung door, so rough- 
ly that it trembles on its hinges, and the instant after a 
wooden trencher is shoved in through the wide chink 
by which the cat made her escape; on it are a thin 
round cake of bread and a shallow earthen saucer con- 
taining a little olive-oil; there is no more than might 


12 


THE SISTERS. 


perhaps be contained in half an ordinary egg-shell, but 
it looks fresh and sweet, and shines in clear, golden puri- 
ty. The girl goes to the door, pulls in the platter, and, 
as she measures the allowance with a glance, exclaims 
half in lament and half in reproach : 

‘‘So little! and is that for both of us?” 

As she speaks her expressive features have changed 
again and her flashing eyes are directed towards the 
door with a glance of as much dismay as though the 
sun and stars had been suddenly extinguished; and yet 
her only grief is the smallness of the loaf, which certain- 
ly is hardly large enough to stay the hunger of one 
young creature — and two must share it; what is a mere 
nothing in one man’s life, to another may be of great 
consequence and of terrible significance. 

The reproachful complaint is heard by the messen- 
ger outside the door, for the old woman who shoved in 
the trencher over the threshold answers quickly but not 
crossly. 

‘•Nothing more to-day, Irene.” 

“It is disgraceful,” cries the girl, her eyes filling with 
tears, “every day the loaf grows smaller, and if we 
were sparrows we should not have enough to satisfy us. 
You know what is due to us and I will never cease to 
complain and petition. Serapion shall draw up a fresh 
address for us, and when the king knows how shame- 
fufijr we are treated — ” 

“Aye! when he knows,” interrupted the old w^oman. 
“ But the cry of the poor is tossed about by many winds 
before it reaches the king’s ear, I might find a shorter 
w^ay than that for you and your sister if fasting comes 
so much amiss to you. Girls with faces like hers and 
yours, my little Irene, need never come to want.” 


THE SISTERS. 


15 


And pray what is my face like ? ” asked the girl^ 
and her pretty features once more seemed to catch a 
gleam of sunshine. 

‘‘Why, so handsome that you may always venture 
to show it beside your sister’s; and yesterday, in the 
procession, the great Roman sitting by the queen 
looked as often at her as at Cleopatra herself. If you 
had been there too he would not have had a glance for 
the queen, for you are a pretty thing, as I can tell you. 
And there are many girls would sooner hear those 
vw words then have a whole loaf — besides you have a mir- 
ror I suppose, look in that next time you are hungry.’^ 

The old woman’s shuffling steps retreated again 
and the girl snatched up the golden jar, opened the 
door a little way to let in the daylight and looked at 
herself in the bright surface; but the curve of the costly 
vase showed her features all distorted, and she gaily 
breathed on the hideous travestie that met her eyes, so 
that it was all blurred out by the moisture. Then she 
smilingly put down the jar, and opening the chest took 
from it a small metal mirror into which she looked again 
and yet again, arranging her shining hair first in one 
way and then in another; and she only laid it down 
when she remembered a certain bunch of violets which 
had attracted her attention when she first woke, and 
which must have been placed in their saucer of water 
by her sister some time the day before. Without paus- 
ing to consider she took up the softly scented blossoms, 
dried their green stems on her dress, took up the mirror 
again and stuck the flowers in her hair. 

How bright her eyes were now, and how contented- 
ly she put out her hand for the loaf. And how fair 
were the visions that rose before her young fancy as she 


14 


THE SISTERS. 


broke off one piece after another and hastily eat them 
after slightly moistening them with the fresh oil. Once, 
at the festival of the New Year, she had had a glimpse 
into the king’s tent, and there she had seen men and 
women feasting as they reclined on purple cushions. 
Now she dreamed of tables covered with costly vessels, 
was served in fancy by boys crowned with flowers, 
heard the music of flutes and harps and — for she was 
no more than a child and had such a vigorous young 
appetite — pictured herself as selecting the daintiest and 
sweetest morsels out of dishes of solid gold and eating 
till she was satisfied, aye so perfectly satisfied that the 
very last mouthful of bread and the very last drop of 
oil had disappeared. 

But so soon as her hand found nothing more on the 
empty trencher the bright illusion vanished, and she 
looked with dismay into the empty oil-cup and at the 
place where just now the bread had been. 

‘‘Ah!” she sighed from the bottom of her heart; 
then she turned the platter over as though it might be 
possible to find some more bread and oil on the other 
side of it, but finally shaking her head she sat looking 
thoughtfully into her lap ; only for a few minutes how- 
ever, for the door opened and the slim form of her sister 
Klea appeared, the sister whose meagre rations she had 
dreamily eaten up, and Klea had been sitting up half 
the^ight sewing for her, and then had gone out before 
sunrise to fetch water from the Well of the Sun for the 
morning sacrifice at the altar of Serapis. 

Klea greeted her sister with a loving glance but 
without speaking; she seemed too exhausted for words 
and she wiped the drops from her forehead with the 
linen veil that covered the back of her head as she seat- 


THE SISTERS. 


IS 

ed herself on the lid of the chest. Irene immediately 
glanced at the empty trencher, considering whether she 
had best confess her guilt to the wearied girl and beg for 
forgiveness, or divert the scolding she had deserved by 
some jest, as she had often succeeded in doing before. 
This seemed the easier course and she adopted it at 
once; she went up to her sister quickly, but not quite 
unconcernedly, and said with mock gravity: 

Look here, Klea, don’t you notice anything in me ? 
I must look like a crocodile that has eaten a whole 
hippopotamus, or one of the sacred snakes after it has 
swallowed a rabbit. Only think when I had eaten my 
own bread I found yours between my teeth — quite un- 
expectedly — ^but now — ” 

Klea, thus addressed, glanced at the empty platter 
and interrupted her sister with a low-toned exclamation. 
<‘Oh! I was so hungry.” 

The words expressed no reproof, only utter exhaus- 
tion, and as the young criminal looked at her sister and 
saw her sitting there, tired and^worn out but submitting 
to the injury that had been done her without a word of 
complaint, her heart, easily touched, was filled with 
compunction and regret. She burst into tears and 
threw herself on the ground before her, clasping her 
knees and crying, in a voice broken with sobs : 

‘‘ Oh Klea ! poor, dear Klea, what have I done ! but 
indeed I did not mean any harm. I don’t know how 
it happened. Whatever I feel prompted to do I do, I 
can’t help doing it, and it is not till it is done that I be- 
gin to know whether it was right or wrong. You sat 
up and worried yourself for me, and this is how I repay 
you — I am a bad girl ! But you shall not go hungry 
— no, you shall not.” 


l6 THE SISTERS. 

Never mind, never mind,” said the elder, and she 
stroked her sister’s brown hair with a loving hand. 

But as she did so she came upon the violets fast- 
ened among the shining tresses. Her lips quivered and 
her weary expression changed as she touched the flow- 
ers and glanced at the empty saucer in which she had 
carefully placed them the day before. Irene at once 
perceived the change in her sister’s face, and thinking 
only that she was surprised at her pretty adornment, 
she said gaily: “ Do you think the flowers becoming to 
me?” 

Klea’s hand was already extended to take the vio- 
lets out of the brown plaits, for her sister was still i 
kneeling before her, but at this question her arm drop- 
ped, and she said more positively and distinctly than 
she had yet spoken and in a voice, whose sonorous but 
musical tones were almost masculine and certainly re- 
markable in a girl: ‘ 

‘‘The bunch of flowers belongs to me; but keep it , 
till it is faded, by mid-day, and then return it to me.” 

“It belongs to you?” repeated the younger girl, 
raising her eyes in surprise to her sister, for to this hour ' 
what had been Klea’s had been hers also. “But I al- 
ways used to take the flowers you brought home; what * 
is there special in these?” ; 

“They are only violets like any other violets,” re- j 
plied Klea coloring deeply. “ But the queen has worn 
them.” 

“The queen!” cried her sister springing to her feet 
and clasping her hands in astonishment. “ She gave you 
the flowers? And you never told me till now ? To be 
sure when you came home from the procession yesterday 
you only asked me how my foot was and whether my 


1 




THE SISTERS. 


17 


clothes were whole and then not another mortal word 
did you utter. Did Cleopatra herself give you this 
bunch ? ” 

“ How should she? retorted Klea. ‘^One of her 
escort threw them to me; but drop the subject pray! 
Give me the water, please, my mouth is parched and I 
can hardly speak for thirst.” 

The bright color dyed her cheeks again as she spoke, 
but Irene did not observe it, for — delighted to make up 
for her evil doings by performing some little service — 
she ran to fetch the water-jar; while Klea filled and 
emptied her wooden bowl she said, gracefully lifting a 
small foot, to show to her sister: 

Look, the cut is almost healed and I can wear my 
sandal again. Now I shall tie it on and go and ask 
Serapion for some bread for you and perhaps he will 
give us a few dates. Please loosen the straps for me a 
little, here, round the ankle, my skin is so thin and ten- 
der that a little thing hurts me which you would hardly 
feel. At mid-day I will go with you and help fill the 
jars for the altar, and later in the day I can accompany 
you in the procession which was postponed from yester- 
day. If only the queen and the great foreigner should 
come again to look on at it ! That would be splendid ! 
Now, I am going, and before you have drunk the last 
bowl of water you shall have some bread, for I will 
coax the old man so prettily that he can’t say Dio.’” 

Irene opened the door, and as the broad sunlight fell 
in it lighted up tints of gold in her chestnut hair, and 
her sister looking after her could almost fancy that the 
sunbeams had got entangled with the waving glory 
round her head. The bunch of violets was the last 
thing she took note of as Irene went out into the open 


i8 


THE SISTERS. 


air; then she was alone and she shook her head gently 
as she said to herself : I give up everything to her 
and what I have left she takes from me. Three times 
have I met the Roman, yesterday he gave me the vio- 
lets, and I did want to keep those for myself — and now 
— ” As she spoke she clasped the bowl she still held in 
her hand closely to her and her lips trembled pitifully, 
but only for an instant; she drew herself up and said 
firmly: ‘‘But it is all as it should be.” 

Then she was silent; she set down the water-jar on 
the chest by her side, passed the back of her hand 
across her forehead as if her head were aching, then, as 
she sat gazing down dreamily into her lap, her weary 
head presently fell on her shoulder and she was asleep. 


CHAPTER II. 

The low brick building of which the sisters’ room 
formed a part, was called the Pastophorium, and it was 
occupied also by other persons attached to the service 
of the temple, and by numbers of pilgrims. These 
assembled here from all parts of Egypt, and were glad 
to pass a night under the protection of the sanctuary. 

Irene, when she quitted her sister, went past many 
doofS^^which had been thrown open after sunrise — 
hastily returning the greetings of many strange as well 
as familiar faces, for all glanced after her kindly as 
though to see her thus early were an omen of happy 
augury, and she soon reached an outbuilding adjoining 
the northern end of the Pastophorium; here there was 
no door, but at the level of about a man’s height from 


THE SISTERS. 


19 

the ground there were six unclosed windows opening 
on the road. From the first of these the pale and much 
wrinkled face of an old man looked down on the girl 
as she approached. She shouted up to him in cheerful 
accents the greeting familiar to the Hellenes ‘‘Rejoice!” 
But he, without moving his lips, gravely and signifi- 
cantly signed to her with his lean hand and with a 
glance from his small, fixed and expressionless eyes 
that she should wait, and then handed out to her a 
wooden trencher on which lay a few dates and half a 
cake of bread. 

“For the altar of the god?” asked the girl. The 
old man nodded assent, and Irene went on with her 
small load, with the assurance of a person who knows 
exactly what is required of her; but after going a few 
steps and before she had reached the last of the six 
windows she paused, for she plainly heard voices and 
steps, and presently, at the end of the Pastophorium 
towards which she was proceeding and which opened 
into a small grove of acacias dedicated to Serapis — 
which was of much greater extent outside the enclosing 
wall — appeared a little group of men whose appearance 
attracted her attention; but she was afraid to go on 
towards the strangers, so, leaning close up to the wall 
ot the houses, she awaited their departure, listening the 
while to what they were saying. 

In front of these early visitors to the temple walked 
a man with a long staff in his right hand speaking to 
the two gentlemen who followed, with the air of a pro- 
fessional guide, who is accustomed to talk as if he were 
reading to his audience out of an invisible book, and 
whom the hearers are unwilling to interrupt with ques- 
tions, because they know that his knowledge scarcely 


20 


THE SISTERS. 


extends beyond exactly what he says. Of his two * ^ 
remarkable-looking hearers one was wrapped in a long J 
and splendid robe and wore a rich display of gold ) 

chains and rings, while the other wore nothing over his 
short chiton but a Roman toga thrown over his left ‘It 
shoulder. 

His richly attired companion was an old man with 
a full and beardless face and thin grizzled hair. Irene | 
gazed at him with admiration and astonishment, but 
when she had feasted her eyes on the stulfs and orna- _ S 

ments he wore, she fixed them with much greater in- | 
terest and attention on the tall and youthful figure at his 
side. 

‘‘Like Hui, the cook’s fat poodle, beside a young 
lion,” thought she to herself, as she noted the bustling j 
step of the one and the independent and elastic gait of | 
the other. She felt irresistibly tempted to mimic the J 
older man, but this audacious impulse was soon quelled, i 
for scarcely had the guide explained to the Roman that 
it was here that those pious recluses had their cells who 
served the god in voluntary captivity, as being conse- ; 
crated to Serapis, and that they received their food 
through those windows — here he pointed upwards with 
his staff — when suddenly a shutter, which the cicerone 
of this ill -matched pair had touched with his stick, flew 5 
open with as much force and haste as if a violent gust \ 

of wind had caught it, and flung it back against the ; 

wall. And no less suddenly a man’s head — of ferocious [ 

aspect and surrounded by a shock of gray hair like a 
lion’s mane — looked out of the window and shouted to ^ 
him who had knocked, in a deep and somewhat over- 
loud voice. : 

“ If my shutter had been your back, you impudent ; 


THE SISTERS. 


21 


rascal, your stick would have hit the right thing. Or if 
I had a cudgel between my teeth instead of a tongue, I 
would exercise it on you till it was as tired as that of a 
preacher who has threshed his empty straw to his con- 
gregation for three mortal hours. Scarcely is the sun 
risen when we are plagued by the parasitical and inquis- 
itive mob. Why ! they will rouse us at midnight next, 
and throw stones at our rotten old shutters. The 
effects of my last greeting lasted you for three weeks — 
to-day’s I hope may act a little longer. You, gentle- 
men there, listen to me. Just as the raven follows an 
army to batten on the dead, so that fellow there stalks 
on in front of strangers in order to empty their pockets — 
and you, who call yourself an interpreter, and in learn- 
ing Greek have forgotten the little Egyptian you ever 
knew, mark this: When you have to guide strangers 
take them to see the Sphinx, or to consult the Apis in 
the temple of Ptah, or lead them to the king’s beast- 
garden at Alexandria, or the taverns at Kanopus, but 
don’t bring them here, for we are neither pheasants, nor 
flute-playing women, nor miraculous beasts, who take 
a pleasure in being stared at. You, gentlemen, ought 
to choose a better guide than this chatter-mag that 
keeps up its perpetual rattle when once you set it going. 
As to yourselves I will tell you one thing : Inquisitive 
eyes are intrusive company, and every prudent house 
holder guards himself against them by keeping his door 
shut.” 

Irene shrank back and flattened herself against the 
pilaster which concealed her, for the shutter closed 
again with a slam, the recluse pulling it to with a rope 
attached to its outer edge, and he was hidden from the 
gaze of the strangers; but only for an instant, for the 


22 


THE SISTERS. 


rusty hinges on which the shutter hung were not strong 
enough to bear such violent treatment, and slowly giv- 
ing way it was about to fall. The blustering hermit 
stretched out an arm to support it and save it; but it 
was heavy, and his efforts would not have succeeded 
had not the young man in Roman dress given his assist- 
ance and lifted up the shutter with his hand and 
shoulder, without any effort, as if it were made of 
willow laths instead of strong planks. 

‘‘A little higher still,” shouted the recluse to his as- 
sistant. ‘‘Let us set the thing on its edge! so, push 
away, a little more. There, I have propped up the 
wretched thing and there it may lie. If the bats pay 
me a visit to-night I will think of you and give them 
your best wishes.” 

“You may save yourself that trouble,” replied the 
young man with cool dignity. “ I will send you a car- 
penter who shall refix the shutter, and we offer you our 
apologies for having been the occasion of the mischief 
that has happened.” 

The old man did not interrupt the speaker, but, 
when he had stared at him from head to foot, he said : 

“You are strong and you speak fairly, and I might 
like you well enough if you were in other company, I 
don’t want your carpenter; only send me down a ham- 
mer, a wedge, and a few strong nails. Now, you can 
do n’bthing more for me, so pack off.” 

“We are going at once,” said the more handsomely 
dressed visitor in a thin and effeminate voice. “What 
can a man do when the boys pelt him with dirt from a 
safe hiding-place, but take himself off.” 

“ Be off, be off,” said the person thus described, with 
a laugh. “As far off as Samothrace if you like, fat 


THE SISTERS. 


23 


Eulaeus; you can scarcely have forgotten the way there 
since you advised the king to escape thither with all 
his treasure. But if you cannot trust yourself to find 
it alone, I recommend you your interpreter and guide 
there to show you the road.’' 

The Eunuch Eulaeus, the favorite councillor of King 
Ptolemy — called Philometor (the lover of his mother) 
— turned pale at these words, cast a sinister glance at 
the old man and beckoned to the young Roman; he 
however was not inclined to follow, for the scolding 
old oddity had taken his fancy — perhaps because he 
was conscious that the old man, who generally showed 
no reserve in his dislikes, had a liking for him. Besides, 
he found nothing to object to irr his opinion of his com- 
panions, so he turned to Eulaeus and said courteously : 

‘‘Accept my best thanks for your company so far, 
and do not let me detain you any longer from your 
more important occupations on my account.” 

Eulaeus bowed and replied, “ I know what my duty 
is. The king entrusted me with your safe conduct; 
permit me therefore to wait for you under the acacias 
yonder.” 

When Eulaeus and the guide had reached the green 
grove, Irene hoped to find an opportunity to prefer her 
petition, but the Roman had stopped in front of the 
old man’s ceil, and had begun a conversation with him 
which she could not venture to interrupt. She set down 
the platter with the bread and dates that had been en- 
trusted to her on a projecting stone by her side with a 
little sigh, crossed her arms and feet as she leaned 
against the wall, and pricked up her ears to hear their 
talk. 

“I am not a Greek,” said the youth, “and you are 


24 


THE SISTERS. 


quite mistaken in thinking that I came to Egypt and to 
see you out of mere curiosity.” . 

‘‘ But those who come only to pray in the temple,” ' 
interrupted the other, “do not — as it seems to me — | 

choose an Eulaeus for a companion, or any such couple 
as those now waiting for you under the acacias, and in- |i 

yoking anything rather than blessings on your head; J 

at any rate, for my own part, even if I were a thief I 3 

would not go stealing in their company. What then 1 

brought you to Serapis ? ” 1 

“It is my turn now to accuse you of curiosity!” 1 

“By all means,” cried the old man, “I am an hon- i 

est dealer and quite willing to take back the coin I am ' 

ready to pay away. Have you come to have a dream 
interpreted, or to sleep in the temple yonder and have | 
a face revealed to you ? ” | 

“Do I look so sleepy,” said the Roman, “as to J 
want to go to bed again now, only an hour after sun- ^ 
rise?” ] 

“ It may be,” said the recluse, “ that you have not ^ 

yet fairly come to the end of yesterday, and that at the | 

fag-end of some revelry it occurred to you that you j 

might visit us and sleep away your headache at Se- i 

rapis.” j 

“A good deal of what goes on outside these walls , 

seems to come to your ears,” retorted the Roman, “and 
if I w^re to meet you in the street I should take you 
for a ship’s captain or a master-builder who had to 
manage a number of unruly workmen. According to 
what I heard of you and those like you in Athens and 
elsewhere, I expected to find you something quite dif- 
ferent.” 

“What did you expect?” said Serapion laughing.- 



THE SISTERS. 


2 $ 

I ask you notwithstanding the risk of being again con- 
sidered curious.^’ 

‘‘And I am very willing to answer/^ retorted the 
other, “but if I were to tell you the whole truth I should 
run into imminent danger of being sent off as ignomin- 
iously as my unfortunate guide there.’’ 

“Speak on,” s^d the old man, “I keep different 
garments for different men, and the worst are not for 
those who treat me to that rare dish — a little truth. 
But before you serve me up so bitter a meal tell me, 
what is your name ? ” ' 

“Shall I call the guide?” said the Roman with an 
ironical laugh. “ He can describe me completely, and 
give you the whole history of my family. But, joking 
apart, my name is Publius.” 

“The name of at least one out of every three of your 
countrymen.” 

“I am of the Cornelia gens and of the family of 
the Scipios,” continued the youth in a low voice, as 
though he would rather avoid boasting of his illustrious 
name. 

“Indeed, a noble gentleman, a very grand gentle- 
man ! ” said the recluse, bowing deeply out of his win- 
dow. “But I knew that beforehand, for at your age 
and with such slender ankles to his long legs only a 
nobleman could walk as you walk. Then Publius 
Cornelius — ” 

“ Nay, call meScipio, or rather by my first name only, 
Publius,” the youth begged him. “You are called Se- 
rapion, and I will tell you what you wish to know. 
When I was told that in this temple there were people 
who had themselves locked into their little chambers 
never to quit them, taking thought about their dreams 


26 


THE SISTERS. 


and leading a meditative life, I thought they must be 
simpletons or fools oi both at once.” 

“Just so, just so,” interrupted Serapion. “But there 
is a fourth alternative you did not think of. Suppose 
now among these men there should be some shut up 
against their will, and what if I were one of those pris- 
oners? I have asked you a grea^iany questions and 
you have not hesitated to answer, and you may know 
how I got into this miserable cage and why I stay in 
it. I am the son of a good family, for my father was 
overseer of the granaries ^of this temple and was of 
Macedonian origin, but my mother was an Egyptian. 
I was born in an evil hour, on the twenty-seventh day 
of the month of Paophi, a day which it is said in the 
sacred books that it is an evil day and that the child 
that is born in it must be kept shut up or else it will die 
of a snake-bite. In consequence of this luckless pre- 
diction many of those born on the same day as myself 
were, like me, shut up at an early age in this cage. My 
father would very willingly have left me at liberty, but 
my uncle, a caster of horoscopes in the temple of Ptah, 
who was all in all in my mother’s estimation, and his 
friends with him, found many other evil signs about my 
body, read misfortune for me in the stars, declared that 
the Hathors had destined me to nothing but evil, and 
set upon her so persistently that at last I was destined 
to the cloister — we lived here at Memphis. I owe this 
misery to my dear mother and it was out of pure affec- 
tion that she brought it upon me. You look enquir- 
ingly at me — aye, boy! life will teach you too the lesson 
that the worst hate that can be turned against you 
often entails less harm upon you than blind tenderness 
which knows no reason. I learned to read and write. 


THE SISTERS. 


27 


and all that is usually taught to the priests^ sons, but 
never to accommodate myself to my lot, and I never 
shall. — Well, when my beard grew I succeeded in 
escaping and I lived for a time in the world. I have 
been even to Rome, to Carthage, and in Syria; but at 
last I longed to drink Nile- water once more and I 
returned to Egypt. Why? Because, fool that I was, 
I fancied that bread and water with captivity tasted 
better in my own country than cakes and wine with 
freedom in the land of the stranger. 

‘‘ In my father’s house I found only my mother still 
living, for my father had died of grief. Before my 
flight she had been a tall, fine woman, when I came 
home I found her faded and dying. Anxiety for me, a 
miserable wretch, had consumed her, said the physi- 
cian — that was the hardest thing to bear. When at 
last the poor, good little woman, who could so fondly 
persuade me — a wild scamp — implored me on her 
death-bed to return to my retreat, I yielded, and swore 
to her that I would stay in my prison patiently to the 
end, for I am as water is in northern countries, a child 
may turn me with its little hand or else I am as hard 
and as cold as crystal. My old mother died soon after 
I had taken this oath. I kept my word as you see — 
and you have seen too how I endure my fate.” 

‘‘Patiently enough,” replied Publius, “I should 
writhe in my chains far more rebelliously than you, and 
I fancy it must do you good to rage and storm some- 
times as you did just now.” 

“As much good as sweet wine from Chios!” ex- 
claimed the anchorite, smacking his lips as if he tasted 
the noble juice of the grape, and stretching his matted 
head as far as possible out of the window. Thus it 


28 


THE SISTERS. 


happened that he saw Irene, and called out to her in a 
cheery voice: 

‘‘What are you doing there, child? You are stand- 
ing as if you were waiting to say good-morning to good 
fortune.” 

The girl hastily took up the trencher, smoothed 
down her hair with her other hand, and as she ap- 
proached the men, coloring slightly, Publius feasted his 
eyes on her in surprise and admiration. 

But Serapion’s words had been heard by another 
person, who now emerged from the acacia-grove and 
joined the young Roman, exclaiming before he came 
up with them: 

“Waiting for good fortune! does the old man say? 
And you can hear it said, Publius, and not reply that 
she herself must bring good fortune wherever she ap- 
pears.” 

The speaker was a young Greek, dressed with ex- 
treme care, and he now stuck the pomegranate-blossom 
he carried in his hand behind his ear, so as to shake 
hands with his friend Publius; then he turned his fair, 
saucy, almost girlish face with its finely-cut features up 
to the recluse, wishing to attract his attention to him- 
self by his next speech. 

“With Plato’s greeting ‘to deal fairly and honestly’ 
do I approach you!” he cried; and then he went on 
mof^quietly: “But indeed you can hardly need such a 
warning, for you belong to those who know how to 
conquer true — that is the inner — freedom; for who can 
be freer than he who needs nothing? And as none can 
be nobler than the freest of the free, accept the tribute 
of my respect, and scorn not the greeting of Lysias of 
Corinth, who, like Alexander, would fain exchange lots 


THE SISTERS. 


29. 


with you, the Diogenes of Egypt, if it were vouchsafed 
to him always to see out the window of your mansion — 
otherwise not very desirable — the charming form of 
this damsel — ” 

“That is enough, young man,’^ said Serapion, inter- 
rupting the Greek’s flow of words. “This young girl 
belongs to the temple, and any one who is tempted to 
speak to her as if she were a flute-player will have to 
deal with me, her protector. Yes, with me; and your 
friend here will bear me witness that it may not be 
altogether to your advantage to have a quarrel with 
such as I. Now, step back, young gentlemen, and let 
the girl tell me what she needs.” 

When Irene stood face to face with the anchorite, 
and had told him quickly and in a low voice what she 
had done, and that her sister Klea was even now wait- 
ing for her return, Serapion laughed aloud, and then said 
in a low tone, but gaily, as a father teases his daughter : 

“She has eaten enough for two, and here she 
stands, on her tiptoes, reaching up to my window, as 
if it were not an over-fed girl that stood in her garments, 
but some airy sprite. We may laugh, but Klea, poor 
thing, she must be hungry?” 

Irene made no reply, but she stood taller on tiptoe 
than ever, put her face up to Serapion, nodding her 
pretty head at him again and again, and as she looked 
roguishly and yet imploringly into his eyes Serapion 
went on: 

“And so I am to give my breakfast to Klea, that is 
what you want; but unfortunately that breakfast is a 
thing of the past and beyond recall; nothing is left of 
it but the date-stones. But there, on the trencher in 
your hand, is a nice little meal.” 


30 


THE SISTERS. 


‘^That is the offering to Serapis sent by old Phibis,” 
answered the girl. 

‘‘Hm, hm — oh! of course!” muttered the old man. 
^^So long as it is for a god — surely he might do without 
it better than a poor famishing girl.” 

Then he went on, gravely and emphatically, as a 
teacher who has made an incautious speech before his 
pupils endeavors to rectify it by another of more solemn 
import. 

‘‘Certainly, things given into our charge should 
never be touched; besides, the gods first and man after- 
wards. Now if only I knew what to do. But, by the 
soul of my father! Serapis himself sends us what we 
aieed. Step close up to me, noble Scipio — or Publius, 
if I may so call you — and look out towards the acacias. 
Do you see my favorite, your cicerone, and the bread 
and roast fowls that your slave has brought him in that 
leathern wallet? And now he is setting a wine-jar 
on the carpet he has spread at the big feet of 
Eulaeus — they will be calling you to share the meal 
in a minute, but I know of a pretty child who is very 
hungry — for a little white cat stole away her break- 
fast this morning. Bring me half a loaf and the wing 
of a fowl, and a few pomegranates if you like, or 
one of the peaches Eulaeus is so judiciously fingering. 
Nay — you may bring two of them, I have a use for 
bothr^ 

“Serapion!” exclaimed Irene in mild reproof and 
looking down at the ground, but the Greek answered 
with prompt zeal, “More, much more than that I can 
bring you. I hasten — ” 

“Stay here,” interrupted Publius with decision, hold- 
ing him back by the shoulder. “ Serapion’s request was 


THE SISTERS. 


31 


addressed to me, and I prefer to do my friend’s pleasure 
in my own person.” 

Go then,” cried the Greek after Publius as he hur- 
ried away. ^*You will not allow me even thanks from 
the sweetest lips in Memphis. Only look, Serapion, 
what a hurry he is in. And now poor Eulaeus has to 
get up; a hippopotamus might learn from him how to 
do so with due awkwardness. Well! I call that mak- 
ing short work of it — a Roman never asks before he 
takes; he has got all he wants and Eulaeus looks after 
him like a cow whose calf has been stolen from her; 
to be sure I myself would rather eat peaches than see 
them carried away! Oh if only the people in the 
Forum could see him now! Publius Cornelius Scipio 
Nasica, own grandson to the great Africanus, serving 
like a slave at a feast with a dish in each hand! Well 
Publius, what has Rome the all conquering brought 
home this time in token of victory ? ” 

Sweet peaches and a roast pheasant,” said Corne- 
lius laughing, and he handed two dishes into the an- 
chorite’s window; ‘‘there is enough left still for the old 
man.” 

“Thanks, many thanks!” cried Serapion, beckoning 
to Irene, and he gave her a golden-yellow cake of 
wheaten bread, half of the roast bird, already divided 
by Eulaeus, and two peaches, and whispered to her: 
“ Klea may come for the rest herself when these men 
are gone. Now thank this kind gentleman and go.” 

For an instant the girl stood transfixed, her face 
crimson with confusion and her glistening white teeth 
set in her nether lip, speechless, face to face with the 
young Roman and avoiding the earnest gaze of his 
black eyes. Then she collected herself and said; 


32 


THE SISTERS. 


‘^You are very kind. I cannot make any pretty 
speeches, but I thank you most kindly.” 

‘‘And your very kind thanks,” replied Publius, “add 
to the delights of this delightful morning. I should very 
much like to possess one of the violets out of your hair 
in remembrance of this day — and of you.” 

“Take them all,” exclaimed Irene, hastily taking 
the bunch from her hair and holding them out to the 
Roman ; but before he could take them she drew back 
her hand and said with an air of importance : 

“The queen has had them in her hand. My sister 
Klea got them yesterday in the procession.” 

Scipio’s face grew grave at these words, and he asked 
with commanding brevity and sharpness: 

“ Has your sister black hair and is she taller than 
you are, and did she wear a golden fillet in the proces- 
sion? Did she give you these flowers? Yes — do you 
say? Well then, she had the bunch from me, but al- 
though she accepted them she seems to have taken very 
little pleasure in them, for what we value we do not 
give away — so there they may go, far enough!” 

With these words he flung the flowers over the house 
and then he went on : 

“ But you, child, you shall be held guiltless of their 
loss. Give me your pomegranate-flower, Lysias ! ” 

“Certainly not,” replied the Greek. “You chose to 
do pleasure to your friend Serapion in )^our own person 
when you kept me from going to fetch the peaches, and 
now I desire to offer this flower to the fair Irene with 
my own hand.” 

“Take this flower,” said Publius, turning his back 
abruptly on the girl, while Lysias laid the blossom on 
the trencher in the maiden’s hand; she felt the rough 


THE SISTERS. 


33 


manners of the young Roman as if she had been touched 
by a hard hand; she bowed silently and timidly and 
then quickly ran home. 

Publius looked thoughtfully after her till Lysias 
called out to him: 

‘‘What has come over me? Has saucy Eros per- 
chance wandered by mistake into the temple of gloomy 
Serapis this morning?” 

“That would not be wise,” interrupted the recluse, 
“for Cerberus, who lies at the foot of our God, would 
soon pluck the fluttering wings of the airy youngster,” 
and as he spoke he looked significantly at the Greek. 

“Aye! if he let himself be caught by the three-headed 
monster,” laughed Lysias. “ But come away now, Pub- 
lius; Eulaeus has waited long enough.” 

“You go to him then,” answered the Roman, “I 
v;ill follow soon; but first I have a word to say to Se- 
rapion.” • 

Since Irene’s disappearance, ”1116 old man had turned 
his attention to the ac^a-grov-e where Eulaeus was still 
feasting. When the Roman addressed him he said, 
shaking his great head with dissatisfaction: 

“Your eyes of course are no worse than mine. 
Only look at that man munching and moving his jaws 
and smacking his lips. By Serapis! you can tell the 
nature of a man by watching him eat. You know I sit 
in my cage unwillingly enough, but I am thankful for 
one thing about it, and that is that it keeps me far from 
all that such a creature as Eulaeus calls enjoyment — for 
such enjoyment, I tell you, degrades a man.” 

“ Then you are more of a philosopher than you wish 
to seem,” replied Publius. 

“I wish to seem nothing,” answered the anchorite. 


3 


34 


THE SISTERS. 


‘‘For it is all the same to me what others think of me. 
But if a man who has nothing to do and whose quiet is 
rarely disturbed, and who thinks his own thoughts 
about many things is a philosopher, you may call me 
one if you like. If at any time you should need advice 
you may come here again, for I like you, and you 
might be able to do me an important service.” 

“Only speak,” interrupted the' Roman, “I should 
be glad from my heart to be of any use to you.” 

“ Not now,” said Serapion softly. “ But come again 
when you have time — without your companions there, 
of course — at any rate without Eulaeus, who of all the 
scoundrels I ever came across is the very worst. It 
may be as well to tell you at once that what I might 
require of you would concern not myself but the weal 
or woe of the water-bearers, the two maidens you have 
seen and who much need protection.” 

“ I came here for my parents’ sake and for Klea’s, 
and not on your account,” said Publius frankly. “There 
is something in her mien and in her eyes which perhaps 
may repel others but which attracts me. How came so 
admirable a creature in your temple ? ” 

“When you come again,” replied the recluse, “I 
will tell you the history of the sisters and what they owe 
to Eulaeus. Now go, and understand me when I say 
the girls are well guarded. This observation is for the 
berreht of the Greek who is but a heedless fellow; but 
you, when you know who the gills are, will help me to 
protect them.” 

“That I would do as it is, with real pleasure,” re- 
plied Publius; he took leave of the recluse and called 
out to Eulaeus. 

“What a delightful morning it has been!” 


THE SISTERS. 


35 


‘‘It would have been pleasanter for me,” replied 
Eulaeus, “if you had not deprived me of your company 
for such a long time,” 

“That is to say,” answered the Roman, “that I have 
stayed away longer than I ought.” 

“You behave after the fashion of your race,” said 
the other bowing low. “They have kept even kings 
waiting in their ante-chambers.” 

“But you do not wear a crown,” said Publius eva- 
sively. “ And if any one should know how to wait it 
is an old courtier, who — ” 

“When it is at the command of his sovereign,” 
interrupted Eulaeus, “the old courtier may submit, even 
when youngsters choose to treat him with contempt.” 

“That hits us both,” said Publius, turning to Lysias. 
^‘Now you may answer him, I have heard and said 
enough.” 


CHAPTER III. 

Irene’s foot was not more susceptible to the 
chafing of a strap than her spirit to a rough or an un- 
kind word; the Roman’s words and manner had hurt 
her feelings. 

She went towards home with a drooping head and 
almost crying, but before she had reached it her eyes 
fell on the peaches and the roast bird she was carrying. 
Her thoughts flew to her sister and how much the 
famishing girl would relish so savory a meal; she 
smiled again, her eyes shone with pleasure, and she 
went on her way with a quickened step. It never once 


3 


3 ^ 


THE SISTERS. 


occurred to her that Klea would ask for the violets, or 
that the young Roman could be anything more to her 
sister than any other stranger. 

She had never had any other companion than Klea, 
and after work, when other girls commonly discussed 
their longings and their agitations and the pleasures 
and the torments of love, these two used to get home 
so utterly wearied that they wanted nothing but peace 
and sleep. If they had sometimes an hour for idle chat 
Klea ever and again would tell some story of their old 
home, and Irene, who even within the solemn walls of 
the temple of Serapis sought and found many innocent 
pleasures, would listen to her willingly, and interrupt 
her with questions and with anecdotes of small events 
or details which she fancied she remembered of her 
early childhood, but which in fact she had first learnt 
from her sister, though the force of a lively imagination 
had made them seem a part and parcel of her own 
experience. 

Klea had not observed Irene’s long absence since, 
as we know, shortly after her sister had set out, over- 
powered by hunger and fatigue she had fallen asleep. 
Before her nodding head had finally sunk and her 
drooping eyelids had closed, her lips now and then 
puckered and twitched as if with grief; then her fea- 
tures grew tranquil, her lips parted softly and a smile 
gendy^ lighted up her blushing cheeks, as the breath of 
spring softly thaws a frozen blossom. This sleeper was 
certainly not born for loneliness and privation, but to 
enjoy and to keep love and happiness. 

It was warm and still, very still in the sisters’ little 
room. The buzz of a fly was audible now and again, 
as it flew round the little oil-cup Irene had left empty, 


THE SISTERS. 


37 


and now and again the breathing of tlie sleeper, coming 
more and more rapidly. Every trace of fatigue had 
vanished from Klea’s countenance, her lips parted and 
pouted as if for a kiss, her cheeks glowed, and at last 
she raised both hands as if to defend herself and stam- 
mered out in her dream, ‘^No, no, certainly not — pray, 
do not! my love — ’’ llien her arm fell again by her 
side, and dropping on the chest on w'hich she was sitting, 
the blow woke her. She slowly opened her eyes with 
a happy smile; then she raised her long silken lashes 
till her eyes were open, and she gazed fixedly on va- 
cancy as though something strange had met her gaze. 
Thus she sat for some time without moving; then she 
started up, pressed her hand on her brow and eyes, and 
shuddering as if she had seen something horrible or 
were shivering with ague, she murmured in gasps, while 
she clenched her teeth : 

^^What does this mean? How come I by such 
thoughts? What demons are these that make us do 
and feel things in our dreams which when we are wak- 
ing we should drive far, far from our thoughts? I 
could hate myself, despise and hate myself for the sake 
of those dreams since, wretch that I am! I let him 
put his arm round me — and no bitter rage — ah! no — 
something quite different, something exquisitely sweet, 
thrilled through my soul.’^ 

As she spoke, she clenched her fists and pressed 
them against her temples; then again her arms dropped 
languidly into her lap, and shaking her head she went 
on in an altered and softened voice: 

Still — it was only in a dream and — Oh ! ye eternal 
gods — when we are asleep — well! and what then? Has 
it come to this; to impure thoughts I am adding self- 


38 


THE SISTERS. 


deception! No, this dream was sent by no demon, it 
was only a distorted reflection of what I felt yesterday 
and the day before, and before that even, when the tall 
stranger looked straight into my eyes — four times he 
has done so now — and then — how many hours ago, 
gave me the violets. Did I even turn away my face or 
punish his boldness with an angry look? Is it not 
sometimes possible to drive away an enemy with a 
glance? I have often succeeded when a man has 
looked after us; but yesterday I could not, and I was 
as wide awake then as I am at this moment. What 
does the stranger want with me ? What is it he asks 
with his penetrating glance, which for days has followed 
me wherever I turn, and robs me of peace even in my 
sleep? Why should I open my eyes — the gates of the 
heart — to him? And now the poison poured in 
through them is seething there; but I will tear it out, 
and when Irene comes home I will tread the violets into 
the dust, or leave them with her; she will soon pull them 
to pieces or leave them to wither miserably — for I will 
remain pure-minded, even in my dreams — what have I 
besides in the world ?” 

At these words she broke off her soliloquy, for she 
heard Irene’s voice, a sound that must have had a favor- 
able effect on her spirit, for she paused, and the bitter 
expression her beautiful features had but just now worn 
disap^ared as she murmured, dfawing a deep breath: 

1 am not utterly bereft and wretched so long as I 
have her, and can hear her voice.” 

Irene, on her road home, had given the modest 
offerings of the anchorite Phibis into the charge of one 
of the temple-servants to lay before the altar of Serapis, 
and now as she came into the room she hid the platter 


THE SISTERS. 


39 


with the Roman’s donation behind her; and while still 
in the doorway, called out to her sister: 

‘‘ Guess now, what have I here ? ” 

Bread and dates from Serapion,” replied Klea. 

Oh, dear no!” cried the other, holding out the 
plate to her sister, ‘‘the very nicest dainties, fit for gods 
and kings. Only feel this peach, does not it feel as 
soft as one of little Philo’s cheeks? If I could always 
l)rovide such a substitute you would wish I might eat 
up your breakfast every day. And now do you know 
who gave you all this? No, that you will never guess! 
I'he tall Roman gave them me, the same you had the 
violets from yesterday.” 

Idea’s face turned crimson, and she said shortly 
and decidedly: 

“How do you know that?” 

“ Because he told me so himself,” replied Irene in a 
very altered tone, for her sister’s eyes were fixed upon 
her with an expression of stern gravity, such as Irene 
had never seen in her before. 

“And where are the violets?” asked Klea. 

“He took them, and his friend gave me this pome- 
granate-flower,” stammered Irene. • “ He himself want- 
ed to give it me, but the Greek — a handsome, merry 
man — would not permit it, and laid the flower there on 
the platter. Take it — ^but do not look at me like that 
any longer, for I cannot bear it ! ” 

“I do not want it,” said her sister, but not sharply; 
then, looking down, she asked in a low voice: Did the 
Roman keep the violets ? ” 

“He kept — no, Klea — I will not tell you a lie! He 
flung them over the house, and said such rough things 
as he did it, that I was frightened and turned my back 


40 


THE SISTERS. 


upon him quickly, for I felt the tears coming into my 
eyes. ' What have you to do with the Roman ? I feel 
so anxious, so frightened — as I do sometimes when a 
storm is gathering and I am afraid of it. And how 
pale your lips are! that comes of long fasting, no doubt 
— eat now, as much as you can. But Klea! why do 
you look at me so — and look so gloomy and terrible ? 
I cannot bear that look, I cannot bear it 1 

Irene sobbed aloud, and her sister went up to her, 
stroked her soft hair from her brow, kissed her kindly, 
and said: 

“ I am not angry with you, child, and did not mean 
to hurt you. If only I could cry as you do when 
clouds overshadow my heart, the blue sky would shine 
again with me as soon as it does with you. Now dry 
your eyes, go up to the temple, and enquire at what 
hour we are to go to the singing-practice, and when 
the procession is to set out.” 

Irene obeyed; she went out with downcast eyes, 
but once out she looked up again brightly, for she re- 
membered the procession, and it occurred to her that she 
would then see again the Romanes gay acquaintance, 
and turning back into the room she laid her pome- 
granate-blossom in the little bowl out of which she had 
formerly taken the violets, kissed her sister as gaily as 
ever, apd then reflected as to whether she would wear 
the flower in her hair or in her bosom. Wear it, at any 
rate, she must, for she must show plainly that she knew 
how to value such a gift. 

As soon as Klea was alone she seized the trencher 
with a vehement gesture, gave the roast bird to the 
gray cat, who had stolen back into the room, turning 
away her head, for the mere smell of the pheasant was 


THE SISTERS. 


41 


like an insult. Then, while the cat bore off her welcome 
spoils into a corner, she clutched a peach and raised 
her hand to fling it away through a gap in the roof of 
the room ; but she did not carry out her purpose, for it 
occurred to her that Irene and little Philo, the son of 
the gate-keeper, might enjoy the luscious fruit; so she 
laid it back on the dish and took up the bread, for she 
was painfully hungry. 

She was on the point of breaking the golden-brown 
cake, but acting on a rapid impulse she tossed it back 
on the trencher saying to herself: ‘^At any rate I will 
owe him nothing; but I will not throw away the gifts 
of the gods as he threw away my violets, for that would 
be a sin. All is over between him and me, and if he 
appears to-day in the procession, and if he chooses to 
look at me g,gain I will compel my eyes to avoid meet- 
ing his — aye, that I will, and will carry it through. 
But, Oh eternal gods! and thou above all, great Serapis, 
whom I heartily serve, there is another thing I cannot 
do without your aid. Help me, oh! help me to forget 
him, that my very thoughts may remain pure.’^ 

With these words she flung herself on her knees be- 
fore the chest, pressed her brow against the hard wood, 
and strove to pray. 

Only for one thing did she entreat the gods; for 
strength to forget the man who had betrayed her into 
losing her peace of mind. 

But just as swift clouds float across the sky, distract- 
ing the labors of the star-gazer, who is striving to ob- 
serve some remote planet — as the clatter of the street 
interrupts again and again some sweet song we fain 
would hear, marring it with its harsh discords — so again 
and again the image of the young Roman came across 


42 


THE SISTERS. 


Klea’s prayers for release from that very thought, and 
at last it seemed to her that she was like a man who 
strives to raise a block of stone by the exertion of his 
utmost strength, and who weary at last of lifting the 
stone is crushed to the earth by its weight; still she felt 
that, in spite of all her prayers and efforts, the enemy 
she strove to keep off only came nearer, and instead of 
flying from her, overmastered her soul with a grasp from 
Avhich she could not escape. 

Finally she gave up the unavailing struggle, cooled 
her burning face with cold water, and tightened the 
straps of her sandals to go to the temple; near the god 
himself she hoped she might in some degree recover 
the peace she could not find here. 

Just at the door she met Irene, who told her that 
the singing-practice was put off, on account of the pro- 
cession which was fixed for four hours after noon. And 
as Klea went towards the temple her sister called after 
her. 

‘^Do not stay too long though, v/ater will be vranted 
again directly for the libations.” 

‘‘Then will you go alone to the work? ” asked Klea; 
“there cannot be very much wanted, for the temple will 
soon be empty on account of the procession. A few 
jars-full will be enough. There is a cake of bread and 
a peach in there for you; I must keep the other for little 
PhilO;^^ 


THE SISTERS. 


43 


CHAPTER IV. 

Klea went quickly on towards the temple, without 
listening to Irene’s excuses. She paid no heed to the 
worshippers who filled the forecourt, praying either with 
heads bent low or with uplifted arms or, if they were of 
Egyptian extraction, kneeling on the smooth stone 
pavement, for, even as she entered, she had already be- 
gun to turn in supplication to the divinity. 

She crossed the great hall of the sanctuary, which 
was open only to the initiated and to the temple-ser- 
vants, of whom she was one. Here all around her 
stood a crowd of slender columns, their shafts crowned 
with gracefully curved flower calyxes, like stems sup- 
porting lilies, over her head she saw in the ceiling an 
image of the midnight sky with the bright, unresting and 
ever-restful stars; the planets and fixed stars in their 
golden barks looked down on her silently. Yes! here 
were the twilight and stillness befitting a personal com- 
munion with the divinity. 

The pillars appeared to her fancy like a forest of 
giant growth, and it seemed to her that the perfume of 
the incense emanated from the gorgeous floral capitals 
that crowned them; it penetrated her senses, which 
were rendered more acute by fasting and agitation, with 
a sort of intoxication. Her eyes were raised to heaven^ 
her arms crossed over her bosom as she traversed this 
vast hall, and with trembling steps approached a 
smaller and lower chamber, where in the furthest 
and darkest background a curtain of heavy and 


44 


THE SISTERS. 


costly material veiled the brazen door of the holy of 
holies. 

Even she was forbidden to approach this sacred 
place; but to-day she was so filled with longing for the 
inspiring assistance of the god, that she went on to the 
holy of holies in spite of the injunction she had never 
yet broken, not to approach it. Filled with reverent 
awe she sank down close to the door of the sacred 
chamber, shrinking close into the angle formed between 
a projecting door-post and the wall of the great hall. 

The craving desire to seek and find a power outside 
us as guiding the path of our destiny is common to 
every nation, to every man; it is as surely innate in 
every being gifted WTth reason — many and various as 
these are — as the impulse to seek a cause when we per- 
ceive an effect, to see when light visits the earth, or to 
hear when, swelling waves of sound fall on our ear. 
Like every other gift, no doubt that of religious sensi- 
bility is bestowed in different degrees on different natures. 
In Klea it had always been strongly developed, and a 
pious mother had cultivated it by precept and example, 
while her father always had taught her one thing only: 
namely to be true, inexorably true, to others as to her- 
self. 

Afterwards she had been daily employed in the ser- 
vic^f the god whom she was accustomed to regard as 
the greatest and most powerful of all the immortals, for 
often from a distance she had seen the curtain of the 
sanctuary pushed aside, and the statue of Serapis with 
the Kalathos on his head, and a figure of Cerberus at 
his feet, visible in the half-light of the holy of holies; 
and a ray of light, flashing through the darkness as by a 
miracle, would fall upon his brow and kiss his lips when 


THE SISTERS. 


4S 


his goodness was sung by the priests in hymns of praise. 
At other times the tapers by the side of the god would 
be lighted or extinguished spontaneously. 

Then, with the other believers, she would glorify the 
great lord of the other world, who caused a new sun 
to succeed each that was extinguished, and made life 
grow up out of death; who resuscitated the dead, lift- 
ing them up to be equal with him, if on earth they had 
reverenced truth and were found faithful by the judges 
of the nether world. 

Truth — which her father had taught her to regard 
as the best possession of life — was rewarded by Serapis 
above all other virtues; hearts were weighed before him 
in a scale against truth, and whenever Klea tried to pict- 
ure the god in human form he wore the grave and 
mild features of her father, and she fancied him speak- 
ing in the words and tones of the man to whom she 
owed her being, who had been too early snatched from 
her, who had endured so much for righteousness’ sake, 
and from whose lips she had never heard a single word 
that might not have beseemed the god himself. And, 
as she crouched closely in the dark angle by the holy 
of holies, she felt herself nearer to her father as well as 
to the god, and accused herself pitilessly, in that un- 
maidenly longings had stirred her heart, that she had 
been insincere to herself and Irene, nay in that if she 
could not succeed in tearing the image of the Roman 
from her heart she would be compelled either to deceive 
her sister or to sadden the innocent and careless nature 
of the impressionable child, whom she was accustomed 
to succor and cherish as a mother might. On her, even 
apparently light matters weighed oppressively, while 
Irene couid throw off even grave and serious things, 


46 


THE SISTERS. 


blowing them off as it were into the air, like a feather. 
She was like wet clay on which even the light touch of 
a butterfly leaves a mark, her sister like a mirror from 
which the breath that has dimmed it instantly and en- 
tirely vanishes. 

Great God!” she murmured in her prayer, “I feel 
as if the Roman had branded my very soul. Help 
thou me to efface the mark; help me to become as I 
was before, so that I may look again in Irene’s eyes 
without concealment, pure and true, and that I may be 
able to^ say to myself, as I was wont, that I had thought 
and acted in such a way as my father would approve 
if he could know it.” 

She was still praying thus when the footsteps and 
voices of two men approaching the holy of holies 
startled her from her devotions; she suddenly became 
fully conscious of the fact that she was in a forbidden 
spot, and would be severely punished if she were dis- 
covered. 

^‘Lock that door,” cried one of the new-comers to 
his companion, pointing to the door which led from the 
prosekos into the pillared hall, “ none, even of the initi- 
ated, need see what you are preparing here for us — ” 

Klea recognized the voice of the high-priest, and 
thought for a moment of stepping forward and confess- 
ingH)er guilt; but, though she did not usually lack 
courage, she did not do this, but shrank still more 
closely into her hiding-place, which was perfectly dark 
when the brazen door of the room, which had no 
windows, was closed. She now perceived that the 
curtain and door were opened which closed the inmost 
sanctuary, she heard one of the men twirling the stick 
which was to produce fire, saw the first gleam of light 


THK SISTERS. 


47 


from it streaming out of the holy of holies, and then 
heard the blows of a hammer and the grating sound of 
a file. 

The quiet sanctum was turned into a forge, but noisy 
as were the proceedings within, it seemed to Klea that 
the beating of her own heart was even louder than the 
brazen clatter of the tools wielded by Krates; he was 
one of the oldest of the priests of Serapis, who was 
chief in charge of the sacred vessels, who was wont never 
to speak to any one but the high-priest, and who was 
famous even among his Greek fellow-countrymen for 
the skill with which he could repair broken metal- work, 
make the securest locks, and work in silver and gold. 

When the sisters first came into the temple five 
years since, Irene had been very much afraid of this 
man, who was so small as almost to be a dwarf, broad 
shouldered and powerfully knit, while his wrinkled face 
looked like a piece of rough cork-bark, and he was 
subject to a painful complaint in his feet which often 
prevented his walking; her fears had not vexed but 
only amused the priestly smith, who whenever he met 
the child, then eleven years old, would turn his lips up 
to his big red nose, roll his eyes, and grunt hideously 
to increase the terror that came over her. 

He was not ill-natured, but he had neither wife nor 
child, nor brother, nor sister, nor friend, and every 
human being so keenly desires that others should have 
some feeling about him, that many a one would rather 
be feared than remain unheeded. 

After Irene had got over her dread she would often 
entreat the old man — who was regarded as stern and 
inaccessible by all the other dwellers in the temple — in 
her own engaging and coaxing way to make a face for 


48 


THE SISTERS. 


her, and he would do it and laugh when the little one, 
to his delight and her own, was terrified at it and ran 
away; and just lately when Irene, having hurt her foot, 
was obliged to keep her room for a few days, an un- 
heard of thing had occurred : he had asked Klea with 
the greatest sympathy how her sister was getting on, and 
had given her a cake for her. 

While Krates was at his work not a word passed be- 
tween him and the high-priest. At length he laid down 
the hammer, and said: 

I do not much like work of this kind, but this, I 
think, is successful at any rate. Any temple-servant, 
hidden here behind the altar, can now light or extin- 
guish the lamps without the illusion being detected by 
the sharpest. Go now and stand at the door of the 
great hall and speak the word.’^ 

Klea heard the high-priest accede to this request 
and cry in a chanting voice: ‘‘Thus he commands the 
night and it becomes day, and the extinguished taper 
and lo! it flames with brightness. If indeed thou art 
nigh, Oh Serapis! manifest thyself to us.” 

At these words a bright stream of light flashed from 
the holy of holies, and again was suddenly extinguished 
when the high-priest sang: “Thus showest thou thy- 
self as light to the children of truth, but dost punish 
with darkness the children of lies.” 

^Again ? ” asked Krates in a voice which conveyed 
a desire that the answer might be ‘ No.’ 

“I must trouble you,” replied the high-priest. 
“Good! the performance went much better this time. 
I was always well assured of your skill; but consider 
the particular importance of this affair. The two kings 
and the queen will probably be present at the so- 


THE SISTERS. 


49 


lemnity, certainly Philometor and Cleopatra will, and 
their eyes are wide open; then the Roman who has al- 
ready assisted four times at the procession will accom- 
pany them, and if I judge him rightly he, like many of 
the nobles of his nation, is one of those who can trust 
themselves when it is necessary to be content with the 
old gods of their fathers; and as regards the marvels we 
are able to display to them, they do not take them to 
heart like the poor in spirit, but measure and weigh 
them with a cool and unbiassed mind. People of that 
stamp, who are not ashamed to worship, who do not 
philosophize but only think just so much as is necessary 
for acting rightly, those are the worst contemners of 
every supersensual manifestation.” 

^‘And the students of nature in the Museum?” 
asked Krates. ‘‘They believe nothing to be real that 
they cannot see and observe.” 

“And for that very reason,” replied the high-priest, 
“ they are often singularly easy to deceive by your skill, 
since, seeing an effect without a cause, they are inclined 
to regard the invisible cause as something supersensual. 
Now, open the door again and let us get out by the 
side door; do you, this time, undertake the task of co- 
operating with Serapis yourself. Consider that Philo- 
metor will not confirm the donation of the land unless 
he quits the temple deeply penetrated by the greatness 
of our god. Would it be possible, do you think, to 
have the new censer ready in time for the birthday of 
King Euergetes, which is to be solemnly kept at Mem- 
phis?” 

“We will see,” replied Krates, “I must first put to- 
gether the lock of the great door of the tomb of Apis, 
for so long as I have it in my workshop any one can 


4 


THE SISTERS. 


50 

Open it who sticks a nail into the hole above the bar, 
and aii)^ one can shut it inside who pushes the iron bolt. 
Send to call me before the performance with the lights 
begins; I will come in spite of my wretched feet. As 
I have undertaken the thing I will carry it out, but for 
no other reason, for it is my opinion that even without 
such means of deception — ” 

^‘We use no deception,” interrupted the high-priest, 
sternly rebuking his colleague. ‘‘We only present to 
short-sighted mortals the creative power of the divinity 
in a form perceptible and intelligible to their senses.” 

AVith these words the tall priest turned his back on 
the smith and quitted the hall by a side door; Krates 
opened the brazen door, and as he gathered together 
his tools he said to himself, but loud enough for Klea 
to hear him distinctly in her hiding-place: 

“It may be right for me, but deceit is deceit, 
whether a god deceives a king or a child deceives a 
beggar.” 

“Deceit is deceit,” repeated Klca after the smith 
when he had left the hall and she bad emerged from 
her corner. 

She stood still for a moment and looked round her.. 
For the first time she observed the shabby colors on 
the walls, the damage the pillars had sustained in the 
course of years, and the loose slabs in the pavement. 

The sweetness of the incense sickened her, and as 
she passed by an old man who threw up his arms in 
fervent supplication, she looked at him with a glance of 
compassion. 

When she had passed out beyond the pylons enclos- 
ing the temple she turned round, shaking her head in a 
puzzled way as she gazed at it; for she knew that not . 


THE SISTERS. 


51 


a stone had been changed within the last hour, and yet 
it looked as strange in her eyes as some landscape with 
which we have become familiar in all the beauty of 
spring, and see once more in winter with its trees bare 
of leaves ; or like the face of a woman which we thought 
beautiful under the veil which hid it, and which, when 
the veil is raised, we see to be wrinkled and devoid of 
charm. 

When she had heard the smith’s words, Deceit is 
deceit,” she felt her heart shrink as from a stab, and could 
not check the tears which started to her eyes, unused 
as they were to weeping; but as soon as she had re- 
peated the stern verdict with her own lips her tears had 
ceased, and now she stood looking at the temple like a 
traveller who takes leave of a dear friend; she was ex- 
cited, she breathed more freely, drew herself up taller, 
and then turned her back on the sanctuary of Serapis, 
proudly though with a sore heart. 

Close to the gate-keeper’s lodge a child came totter- 
ing towards her with his arms stretched up to her. She 
lifted him up, kissed him, and then asked the mother, 
who also greeted her, for a piece of bread, for her hun- 
ger was becoming intolerable. While she ate the dry 
morsel the child sat on her lap, following with his large 
eyes the motion of her hand and lips. The boy was 
about five years old, with legs so feeble that they could 
scarcely support the weight of his body, but he had a 
particularly sweet little face; certainly it was quite with- 
out expression, and it was only when he saw Klea 
coming that tiny Philo’s eyes had lighted up with 
pleasure. 

Drink this milk,” said the child’s mother, offering 
the young girl an earthen bowl. ‘‘There is not much 

4 * 


52 


THE SISTERS. 


and I could not spare it if Philo would eat like other 
children, but it seems as if it hurt him to swallow. He 
drinks two or three drops and eats a mouthful, and 
then will take no more even if he is beaten.” 

“You have not been beating him again?” said Klea 
reproachfully, and drawing the child closer to her. 

“My husband — ” said the woman, pulling at her 
dress in some confusion. “The child was born on a 
good day and in a lucky hour, and yet he is so puny 
and weak and will not learn to speak, and that provokes 
Pianchi.” 

“ He will spoil everything again ! ” exclaimed Klea 
annoyed. “ Where is he ? ” 

“ He was wanted in the temple.” 

“And is he not pleased that Philo calls him ‘father,' 
and you ‘mother,’ and me by my name, and that he 
learns to distinguish many things ? ” asked the girl. 

“Oh, yes of course,” said the woman. “He says 
you are teaching him to speak just as if he were a star- 
ling, and we are very much obliged to you,” 

“That is not what I want,” interrupted Klea. 
“What I wish is that you should not punish and scold 
the boy, and that you should be as glad as I am when 
you see his poor little dormant soul slowly waking up. 
If he goes on like this, the poor little fellow will be 
qui^ sharp and intelligent. What is my name, my 
little one?” 

“Ke-ea,” stammered the child, smiling at his friend. 

“And now taste this that I have in my hand; what 
is it? — I see you know. It is called — whisper in my 
ear. That’s right, mil — ^mil — milk ! to be sure, my tiny, 
it is milk. Now open your little mouth and say it 
prettily after me — once more — and again — say it twelve 


THE SISTERS. 


53 


times quite right and I will give you a kiss — Now you 
have earned a pretty kiss — will you have it here or 
here? Well, and what is this? your ea— ? Yes, your 
ear. And this? — your nose, that is right.” 

The child’s eyes brightened more and more under 
this gentle teaching, and neither Klea nor her pupil 
were weary till, about an hour later, the re-echoing 
sound of a brass gong called her away. As she turned 
to go the little one ran after her crying; she took him 
in her arms and carried him back to his mother, and 
then went on to her own room to dress herself and her 
sister for the procession. On the way to the Pastopho- 
rium she recalled once more her expedition to the tem- 
ple and her prayer there. 

‘‘Even before the sanctuary,” said she to herself, 
“ I could not succeed in releasing my soul from its bur- 
den — it was not till I set to work to loosen the tongue 
of the poor little child. Every pure spot, it seems to 
me, may be the chosen sanctuary of some divinity, and 
is not an infant’s soul purer than the altar where truth 
is mocked at?” 

In their room she found Irene; she had dressed her 
hair carefully and stuck the pomegranate-flower in it, 
and she asked Klea if she thought she looked well. 

“You look like Aphrodite herself,” replied Klea 
kissing her forehead. Then she arranged the folds of 
her sister’s dress, fastened on the ornaments, and pro- 
ceeded to dress herself. While she was fastening her 
sandals Irene asked her, “Why do you sigh so bit- 
terly?” and Klea replied, “I feel as if I had lost my 
parents a second time.” 


54 


THE SISTERS, 


CHAPTER V. 

The procession was over. 

At the great service which had been performed be- 
fore him in the Greek Serapeum, Ptolemy Philometor 
had endowed the priests not with the whole but with a 
considerable portion of the land concerning which they 
had approached him with many petitions. After the 
court had once more quitted Memphis and the proces- 
sion was broken up, the sisters returned to their room, 
Irene with crimson cheeks and a smile on her lips, Klea 
with a gloomy and almost threatening light in her 
eyes. 

As the two were going to their room in silence a 
temple-servant called to Klea, desiring her to go with 
him to the high-priest, who wished to speak to her. 
Klea, without speaking, gave her water-jar to Irene and 
was conducted into a chamber of the temple, which was 
used for keeping the sacred vessels in. There she sat 
down on a bench to wait. The two men who in the 
morning had visited the Pastophorium had also followed 
in the procession with the royal family. At the close 
of the solemnities Publius had parted from his companion 
without taking leave, and without looking to the right 
or to the left, he had hastened back to the Pasto- 
phorium and to the cell of Serapion, the recluse. 

The old man heard from afar the younger man’s 
footstep, which fell on the earth with a firmer and more 
decided tread than that of the softly-stepping priests of 
Serapis, and he greeted him warmly with signs and words. 


THE SISTERS. 


55 


Publius thanked him coolly and gravely, and said, dryly 
enough and with incisive brevity: 

‘‘My time is limited. I propose shortly to quit 
Memphis, but I promised you to hear your request, and 
in order to keep my word I have come to see you;- 
still — as I have said — only to keep my word. The 
water-bearers of whom you desired to speak to me do 
not interest me — I care no more about them than about 
the swallows flying over the house yonder.” 

“And yet this morning you took a long walk for 
Klea’s sake,” returned Serapion. 

“I have often taken a much longer one to shoot a 
hare,” answered the Roman. “We men do not pursue 
our game because the possession of it is any temptation, 
but because we love the sport, and there are sporting 
natures even among women. Instead of spears or 
arrows they shoot with flashing glances, and when they 
think they have hit their game they turn their back 
upon it. Your Kleais one of this sort, while the pretty 
little one I saw this morning looks as if she were very 
ready to be hunted — I, however, no more wish to be 
the hunter of a young girl than to be her game. I have 
still three days to spend in Memphis, and then I shall 
turn my back forever on this stupid country.” 

“This morning,” said Serapion, who began to sus- 
pect what the grievance might be which had excited 
the discontent implied in the Roman’s speech, “This 
morning you appeared to be in less hurry to set out 
than now, so to me you seem to be in the plight of 
game trying to escape; however, I know Klea better 
than you do. Shooting is no sport of hers, nor will she 
let herself be hunted, for she has a characteristic which 
you, my friend Publius Scipio, ought to recognize and 


5 ^ 


THE SISTERS. 


value above all others — she is proud, very proud; aye, 
and so she may be, scornful as you look — as if you 
would like to say ‘how came a water-carrier of Serapis 
by her pride, a poor creature who is ill-fed and always 
engaged in service, pride which is the prescriptive right 
only of those, whom privilege raises above the common 
herd around them?’ — But this girl, you may take my 
word for it, has ample reason to hold her head high, 
not only because she is the daughter of free and noble 
parents and is distinguished by rare beauty, not because 
while she was still a child she undertook, with the de- 
votion and constancy of the best of mothers, the care 
of another child — her own sister, but for a reason which, 
if I judge you rightly, you will understand better than 
many another young man; because she must uphold 
her pride in order that among the lower servants with 
whom unfortunately she is forced to work, she may 
never forget that she is a free and noble lady. You can 
set your pride aside and yet remain what you are, but 
if she were to do so and to learn to feel as a servant, 
she would presently become in fact what by nature she 
is not and by circumstances is compelled to be. A fine 
horse made to carry burdens becomes a mere cart-horse 
as soon as it ceases to hold up its head and lift its feet 
freely. Klea is proud because she must be proud; and 
if you are just you will not contemn the girl, who per- 
haj3s-dias cast a kindly glance at you — since the gods 
have so made you that you cannot fail to please any 
woman — and yet who must repel your approaches be- 
cause she feels herself above being trifled with, even by 
one of the Cornelia gens, and yet too lowly to dare to 
hope that a man like you should ever stoop from your 
height to desire her for a wife. She has vexed you, of 


THE SISTERS. 


57 


that there can be no doubt; how, I can only guess. 
If, however, it has been through her repellent pride, 
that ought not to hurt you, for a woman is like a sold- 
ier, who only puts on his armor when he is threatened 
by an opponent whose weapons he fears.” 

The recluse had rather whispered than spoken these 
words, remembering that he had neighbors; and as he 
ceased the drops stood on his brow, for whenever any- 
thing disturbed him he was accustomed to allow his 
powerful voice to be heard pretty loudly, and it cost 
him no small effort to moderate it for so long. 

Publius had at first looked him in the face, and then 
had gazed at the ground, and he had heard Serapion to 
the end without interrupting him; but the color had 
flamed in his cheeks as in those of a schoolboy, and yet 
he was an independent and resolute youth who knew 
how to conduct himself in difficult straits as well as a 
man in the prime of life. In all his proceedings he was 
wont to know very well, exactly what he wanted, and 
to do without any fuss or comment whatever he 
thought right and fitting. 

During the anchorite’s speech the question had oc- 
curred to him, what did he in fact expect or wish of the 
water-bearer; but the answer was wanting, he felt 
somewhat uncertain of himself, and his uncertainty and 
dissatisfaction with himself increased as all that he 
heard struck him more and more. He became less and 
less inclined to let himself be thrown over by the young 
girl who for some days had, much against his will, been 
constantly in his thoughts, whose image he would 
gladly have dismissed from his mind, but who, after the 
recluse’s speech, seemed more desirable than ever. 

‘‘Perhaps you are right,” he replied after a short 


58 


THE SISTERS. 


silence, and he too lowered his voice, for a subdued 
tone generally provokes an equally subdued answer. 
^‘You know the maiden better than I, and if you 
describe her correctly it would be as well that I should 
abide by my decision and fly from Egypt, or, at any 
rate, from your protegees, since nothing lies before me 
but a defeat or a victory, which could bring me nothing 
but repentance. Klea avoided my eye to-day as if it 
shed poison like a viper’s tooth, and I can have nothing 
more to do with her: still, might I be informed how 
she came into this temple ? and if I can be of any ser- 
vice to her, I will — for your sake. Tell me now what 
you know of her and what you wish me to do.” 

The recluse nodded assent and beckoned Publius 
to come closer to him, and bowing down to speak into 
the Roman’s ear, he said softly: “Are you in favor with 
the queen?” Publius, having said that he was, Serapion, 
with an exclamation of satisfaction, began his story. 

“You learned this morning how I myself came into 
this cage, and that my father was overseer of the tem- 
ple granaries. While I was wandering abroad he was 
deposed from his office, and would probably have died 
in prison, if a worthy man had not assisted him to save 
his honor and his liberty. All this does not concern 
you, and I may therefore keep it to myself; but this 
man was the father of Klea and Irene, and the enemy 
by wlH3se instrumentality my father suffered innocently 
was the villain Eulaeus. You know — or perhaps indeed 
you may not know — that the priests have to pay a 
certain tribute for the king’s maintenance; you know? 
To be sure, you Romans trouble yourselves more about 
matters of law and administration than the culture of 
the arts or the subtleties of thought. Well, it was my 


THE SISTERS. 


59 


father’s duty to pay these customs over to Eulaeus, who 
received them; but the beardless effeminate vermin, the 
glutton — may every peach he ever ate or ever is to eat 
turn to poison ! — kept back half of what was delivered 
to him, and when the accountants found nothing but 
empty air in the king’s stores where they hoped to find 
corn and woven goods, they raised an alarm, which of 
course came to the ears of the powerful thief at court 
before it reached those of my poor father. You called 
Egypt a marvellous country, or something like it; and 
so in truth it is, not merely on account of the great 
piles there that you call Pyramids and such like, but 
because things happen here which in Rome would be 
as impossible as moonshine at mid-day, or a horse with 
his tail at the end of his nose! Before a complaint 
could be laid against Eulaeus he had accused my father 
of the peculation, and before the Epistates and the 
assessor of the district had even looked at the indict- 
ment, their judgment on the falsely accused man was 
already recorded, for Eulaeus had simply bought their 
verdict just as a man buys a fish or a cabbage in the 
market. In olden times the goddess of justice was 
represented in this country with her eyes shut, but now 
she looks round on the world like a squinting woman 
who winks at the king with one eye, and glances with 
the other at the money in the hand of the accuser or 
the accused. My poor father was of course condemned 
and thrown into prison, where he was beginning to 
doubt the justice of the gods, when for his sake the 
greatest wonder happened, ever seen in this land of 
wonders since first the Greeks ruled in Alexandria. An 
honorable man undertook without fear of persons the 
lost cause of the poor condemned wretch, and never 


6o 


THE SISTERS. 


rested till he had restored him to honor and liberty. 
But imprisonment, disgrace and indignation had con- 
sumed the strength of the ill-used man as a worm eats 
into cedar wood, and he fell into a decline and died. 
His preserver, Klea’s father, as the reward of his coura- 
geous action fared even worse; for here by the Nile 
virtues are punished in this world, as crimes are with 
you. Where injustice holds sway frightful things occur, 
for the gods seem to take the side of the wicked. 
Those who do not hope for a reward in the next world, 
if they are neither fools nor philosophers — which often 
comes to the same thing — try to guard themselves 
against any change in this. 

‘‘ Philotas, the father of the two girls, whose parents 
were natives of Syracuse, was an adherent of the doc- 
trines of Zeno — which have many supporters among 
you at Rome too — and he was highly placed as an 
official, for he was president of the Chrematistoi, a 
college of judges which probably has no parallel out of 
Egypt, and which has been kept up better than any 
other. It travels about from province to province 
stopping in the chief towns to administer justice. 
When an appeal is brought against the judgment of the 
court of justice belonging to any place — over which the 
Epistates of the district presides — the case is brought 
before the Chrematistoi, who are generally strangers 
alike-To the accuser and accused; by them it is tried 
over again, and thus the inhabitants of the provinces 
are spared the journey to Alexandria or — since the 
country has been divided — to Memphis, where, besides, 
the supreme court is overburdened with cases. 

‘‘No former president of the Chrematistoi had ever 
enjoyed a higher reputation than Philotas. Corruption 


THE SISTERS. 


6l 


no more dared approach him than a sparrow dare go 
near a falcon, and he was as wise as he was just, for he 
was no less deeply versed in the ancient Egyptian law 
than in that of the Greeks, and many a corrupt judge 
reconsidered matters as soon as it became known that 
he was travelling witli the Chrematistoi, and passed a 
just instead of an unjust sentence, 

Cleopatra, the widow of Epiphanes, while she was 
living and acting as guardian of her sons Philometor 
and Euergetes — who now reign in Memphis and Alex- 
andria — held Philotas in the highest esteem and con- 
ferred on him the rank of ‘relation to the king’; but 
she was just dead when this worthy man took my 
father’s cause in hand, and procured his release from 
prison. 

“The scoundrel Eulaeus and his accomplice Lenaeus 
then stood at the height of power, for the young king, 
who was not yet of age, let himself be led by them like 
a child by his nurse. 

“ Now as my father was an honest man, no one but 
Eulaeus could be the rascal, and as the Chrematistoi 
threatened to call him before their tribunal the miserable 
creature stirred up the war in Coelo-Syria against Anti- 
ochus Epiphanes, the king’s uncle. 

“You know how disgraceful for us was the course 
of that enterprise, how Philometor was defeated near 
Pelusium, and by the advice of Eulaeus escaped with 
his treasure to Samothrace, how Philometor’s brother 
Euergetes was set up as king in Alexandria, how Anti- 
ochus took Memphis, and then allowed his elder 
nephew to continue to reign here as though he were his 
vassal and ward. 

“It was during this period of humiliation, that 


62 


THE SISTERS 


Eulaeus was able to evade Philotas, whom he may very 
well have feared, as though his own conscience walked 
the earth on two legs in the person of the judge, with 
the sword of justice in his hand, and telling all men 
what a scoundrel he was. 

Memphis had opened her gates to Antiochus with- 
out offering much resistance, and the Syrian king, who 
was a strange man and was fond of mixing among the 
people as if he himself were a common man, applied to 
Philotas, who was as familiar with Egyptian manners 
and customs as with those of Greece, in order that he 
might conduct him into the halls of justice and into the 
market-places; and he made him presents as was his 
way, sometimes, of mere rubbish and sometimes of 
princely gifts. 

Then when Philometor was freed by the Romans 
from the protection of the Syrian king, and could 
govern in Memphis as an independent sovereign, Eu- 
laeus accused the father of these two girls of having 
betrayed Memphis into the hands of Antiochus, and 
never rested till the innocent man was deprived of his 
wealth, which was considerable, and sent with his wife 
to forced labor in the gold mines of Ethiopia. 

‘‘When all this occurred I had already returned to 
my cage here; but I heard from my brother Glaucus — 
who was captain of the watch in the palace, and who 
learnt a good many things before other people did — 
what was going on out there, and I succeeded in hav- 
ing the daughters of Philotas secretly brought to this 
temple, and preserved from sharing their parents’ fate. 
That is now five years ago, and now you know how it 
happens, that the daughters of a man of rank carry 
water for the altar of Serapis, and that I would rather 


THE SISTERS. 


^3 


an injury should be done to me than to them, and that 
I would rather see Eulaeus eating some poisonous root 
than fragrant peaches.” 

“And is Philotas still working in the mines?” asked 
the Roman, clenching his teeth with rage. 

“Yes, Publius,” replied the anchorite. “A ‘yes’ 
that it is easy to say, and it is just as easy too to clench 
one’s fists in indignation — but it is hard to imagine the 
torments that must be endured by a man like Philotas, 
and a noble and innocent woman — as beautiful as Hera 
and Aphrodite in one — when they are driven to hard 
and unaccustomed labor under a burning sun by the 
lash of the overseer. Perhaps by this time they have 
been happy enough to die under their sufferings and 
their daughters are already orphans, poor children! No 
one here but the high-priest knows precisely who they 
are, for if Eulaeus were to learn the truth he would send 
them after their parents as surely as my name is 
Serapion.” 

“Let him try it!” cried Publius, raising his right fist 
threateningly. 

“Softly, softly, my friend,” said the recluse, “and 
not now only, but about everything which you under- 
take in behalf of the sisters, for a man like Eulaeus 
hears not only with his own ears but with those of a 
thousand others, and almost everything that occurs at 
court has to go through his hands as epistolographer. 
You say the queen is well-disposed towards you. That 
is worth a great deal, for her husband is said to be 
guided by her will, and such a thing as Eulaeus cannot 
seem particularly estimable in Cleopatra’s eyes if prin- 
cesses are like other women — and I know them well.” 

“And even if he were,” interrupted Publius with 


64 


THE SISTERS. 


glowing cheeks, “I would bring him to ruin all the 
same, for a man like Philotas must not perish, and his 
cause henceforth is my own. Here is my hand upon 
it; and if I am happy in having descended from a 
noble race it is above all because the word of a son of 
the Cornelii is as good as the accomplished deed of any 
other man.” 

The recluse grasped the right hand the young man 
gave him and nodded to him affectionately, his eyes 
radiant, though moistened with joyful emotion. Then 
he hastily turned his back on the young man, and soon 
reappeared with a large papyrus-roll in his hand. 

‘‘Take this,” he said, handing it to the Roman, “I 
have here set forth all that I have told you, fully and 
truly with my own hand in the form of a petition. 
Such matters, as I very well know, are never regularly 
conducted to an issue at court unless they are set forth 
in writing. If the queen seems disposed to grant you 
a wish give her this roll, and entreat her for a letter of 
pardon. If you can effect this, all is won.” 

Publius took the roll, and once more gave his hand 
to the anchorite, who, forgetting himself for a moment, 
shouted out in his loud voice: 

“ May the gods bless thee, and by thy means work 
the release of the noblest of men from his sufferings! 
I had quite ceased to hope, but if you come to our aid 
all is'Hot yet wholly lost.” 


THE SISTERS. 


65 


CHAPTER VI. 

‘^Pardon me if I disturb you.” 

With these words the anchorite’s final speech was 
interrupted by Eulaeus, who had come in to the Pas- 
tophorium softly and unobserved, and who now bowed 
respectfully to Publius. 

May I be permitted to enquire on what compact 
one of the noblest of the sons of Rome is joining hands 
with this singular personage?” 

‘^You are free to ask,” replied Publius shortly and 
drily, “but every one is not disposed to answer, and on 
the present occasion I am not. I will bid you farewell, 
Serapion, but not for long I believe.” 

“Am I permitted to accompany you?” asked Eu- 
laeus. 

“You have followed me without any permission on 
my part.” 

“ I did so by order of the king, and am only fulfil- 
ling his commands in offering you my escort now.” 

“I shall go on, and I cannot prevent your following 
me.” 

“But I beg of you,” said Eulaeus, “to consider that 
it would ill-become me to walk behind you like a 
servant.” 

“I respect the wishes of my host, the king, who 
commanded you to follow me,” answered the Roman. 
“At the door of the temple however you can get into 
your chariot, and I into mine; an old courtier must be 
ready to carry out the orders of his superior.’* 


5 


66 


THE SISTERS. 


‘^And does carry them out/’ answered Eulaeus with 
deference, but his eyes twinkled — as the forked tongue 
of a serpent is rapidly put out and still more rapidly 
withdrawn — with a flash first of threatening hatred, and 
then another of deep suspicion cast at the roll the 
Roman held in his hand. 

Publius heeded not this glance, but walked quickly 
towards the acacia-grove; the recluse looked after the 
ill-matched pair, and as he watched the burly Eulaeus 
following the young man, he put both his hands on his 
hips, pufled out his fat cheeks, and burst into loud 
laughter as soon as the couple had vanished behind the 
acacias. 

When once Serapion’s midrifl* was fairly tickled it 
was hard to reduce it to calm again, and he was still 
laughing when Klea appeared in front of his cell some 
few minutes after the departure of the Roman. He 
was about to receive his young friend with a cheerful 
greeting, but, glancing at her face, he cried anxiously; 

“You look as if you had met with a ghost; your 
lips are pale instead of red, and there are dark shades 
round your eyes. What has happened to you, child? 
Irene went with you to the procession, that I know. 
Have you had bad news of your parents? You shake 
your head. Come, child, perhaps you are thinking of 
some one more than you ought; how the color rises in 
your cheeks! Certainly handsome Publius, the Roman, 
must have looked into your eyes — a splendid youth is 
he — a fine young man — a capital good fellow — ” 

“Say no more on that subject,” Klea exclaimed, 
interrupting her friend and protector, and waving her 
hand in the air as if to cut off the other half of Sera- 
pion’s speech. “ I can hear nothing more about him.” 


THE SISTERS, 67 

‘‘Has he addressed you unbecomingly?” asked the 
recluse. 

“Yes!” said Klea, turning crimson, and with a ve- 
hemence quite foreign to her usual gentle demeanor, 
“yes, he persecutes me incessantly with challenging 
looks.” 

“Only with looks?” said the anchorite. “But we 
may look even at the glorious sun and at the lovely 
flowers as much as we please, and they are not of- 
fended.” 

“The sun is too high and the soulless flowers too 
humble for a man to hurt them,” replied Klea. “ But 
the Roman is neither higher nor lower than I, the eye 
speaks as plain a language as the tongue, and what his 
eyes demand of me brings the blood to my cheeks and 
stirs my indignation even now when I only think of it.” 

“And that is why you avoid his gaze so carefully?” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Publius himself; and because he is wounded by 
your hard-heartedness he meant to quit Egypt; but I 
have persuaded him to remain, for if there is a mortal 
living from whom I expect any good for you and 
yours — ” 

“It is certainly not he,” said Klea positively. “You 
are a man, and perhaps you now think that so long as 
you were young and free to wander about the world 
you would not have acted differently from him — it is a 
man’s privilege; but if you could look into my soul or 
feel with the heart of a woman, you would think differ- 
ently. Like the sand of the desert which is blown over 
the meadows and turns all the fresh verdure to a 
hideous brown — like a storm that transforms the blue 
mirror of the sea into a crisped chaos of black whirl- 


5 


68 


THE SISTERS. 


pools and foaming ferment, this man^s imperious audac- 
ity has cruelly troubled my peace of heart. Four times 
his eyes pursued me in the processions; yesterday I still 
did not recognize my danger, but to-day — I must tell 
you, for you are like a father to me, and who else in the 
world can I confide in ? — to-day I was able to avoid 
his gaze, and yet all through long endless hours of the 
festival I felt his eyes constantly seeking mine. I 
should have been certain I was under no delusion, even 
if Publius Scipio — but what business has his name on 
my lips? — even if the Roman had not boasted to you 
of his attacks on a defenceless girl. And to think that 
you, you of all others, should have become his allyl 
But you would not, no indeed you would not, if you 
knew how I felt at the procession while I was looking 
down at the ground, and knew that his very look dese- 
crated me like the rain that washed all the blossoms off 
the young vine-shoots last year. It was just as if he 
were drawing a net round my heart — but, oh! what a 
net! It was as if the flax on a distaff had been set on 
fire, and the flames spun out into thin threads, and the 
meshes knotted of the fiery yarn. I felt every thread 
and knot burning into my soul, and could not cast it 
off nor even defend myself. Aye! you may look 
grieved and shake your head, but so it was, and the 
scars- hurt me still with a pain I cannot utter.” 

^^But Klea,” interrupted Serapion, ‘^you are quite 
beside yourself — like one possessed. Go to the temple 
and pray, or, if that is of no avail, go to Asclepios or 
Anubis and have the demon cast out.” 

•‘‘I need none of your gods!” answered the girl in 
great agitation. “Oh! I wish you had left me to my 
fate, and that we had shared the lot of our parents, for 


THE SISTERS. 


69 


what threatens us here is more frightful than having to 
sift gold-dust in the scorching sun, or to crush quartz in 
mortars. I did not coihe to you to speak about the 
Roman, but to tell you what the high-priest had -just 
disclosed to me since the procession ended.” 

“Well?” asked Serapion eager and almost frightened, 
stretching out his neck to put his head near to the 
girl’s, and opening his eyes so wide that the loose skin 
below them almost disappeared. 

“First he told me,” replied Klea, “how meagrely 
the revenues of the temple are supplied — ” 

“That is quite true,” interrupted the anchorite, 
“for Antiochus carried off the best part of its treasure; 
and the crown, which always used to have money to 
spare for the sanctuaries of Egypt, now loads our 
estates with heavy tribute; but you, as it seems to me, 
were kept scantily enough, worse than meanly, for, as I 
know — since it passed through my hands — a sum was 
paid to the temple for your maintenance which would 
have sufficed to keep ten hungry sailors, not speak of 
two little pecking birds like you, and besides that you 
do hard service without any pay. Indeed it would be 
a more profitable speculation to steal a beggar’s rags 
than to rob you! Well, what did the high-priest 
want ?” 

“ He says that we have been fed and protected by 
the priesthood for five years, that now some danger 
threatens the temple on our account, and that we must 
either quit the sanctuary or else make up our minds to 
take the place of the twin-sisters Arsinoe and Doris who 
have hitherto been employed in singing the hymns of 
lamentation, as Isis and Nephthys, by the bier of the 
deceased god on the occasion of the festivals of the 


70 


THE SISTERS. 


dead, and in pouring out the libations with wailing and 
outcries when the bodies were brought into the temple 
to be blessed. These maidens, Asclepiodorus says, are 
now too old and ugly for these duties, but the temple is 
bound to maintain them all their lives. The funds of 
the temple are insufficient to support two more serving 
maidens besides them and us, and so Arsinoe and Doris 
are only to pour out the libations for the future, and we 
are to sing the laments, and do the wailing.” 

‘‘But you are not twins!” cried Serapion. “And 
none but twins — so say the ordinances — may mourn for 
Osiris as Isis and Nephthys.” 

“They will make twins of us!” said Klea with a 
scornful turn of her lip. “ Irene’s hair is to be dyed 
black like mine, and the soles of her sandals are to be 
made thicker to make her as tall as I am.” 

“They would hardly succeed in making you smaller 
than you are, and it is easier to make light hair dark 
than dark hair light,” said Serapion with hardly sup- 
pressed rage. “ And what answer did you give to these 
exceedingly original proposals?” 

“The only one I could very well give. I said no — 
but I declared myself ready, not from fear, but because 
we owe much to the temple, to perform any other ser- 
vice with Irene, only not this one.” 

‘fAnd Asclepiodorus?” 

“He said nothing unkind to me, and preserved his 
calm and polite demeanor when I contradicted him, 
though he fixed his eyes on me several times in as- 
tonishment as if he had discovered in me something 
quite new and strange. At last he went on to remind 
me how much trouble the temple singing-master had 
taken wuth us, how well my low voice went with Irene’s 


THE SISTERS. 


high one, how much applause we might gain by a fine 
performance of the hymns of lamentation, and how he 
would be willing, if we undertook the duties of the 
twin-sisters, to give us a better dwelling and more 
abundant food. I believe he has been trying to make 
us amenable by supplying us badly with food, just as 
falcons are trained by hunger. Perhaps I am doing 
him an injustice, but I feel only too much disposed to- 
day to think the worst of him and of the other fathers. 
Be that as it may; at any rate he made me no further 
answer when I persisted in my refusal, but dismissed 
me with an injunction to present myself before him 
again in three days' lime, and then to inform him defin- 
itively whether I would conform to his wishes, or if I 
proposed to leave the temple. I bowed and went 
towards the door, and was already on the threshold 
when he called me back once more, and said: ‘Re- 
member your parents and their fate!' He spoke sol- 
emnly, almost threateningly, but he said no more and 
hastily turned his back on me. What could he mean 
to convey by this warning? Every day and every hour 
I think of my father and mother, and keep Irene in 
mind of them." 

The recluse at these words sat muttering thought- 
fully to himself for a few minutes with a discontented 
air; then he said gravely : 

“ Asclepiodorus meant more by his speech than you 
think. Every sentence with which he dismisses a re- 
fractory subordinate is a nut of which the shell must be 
cracked in order to get at the kernel. When he tells 
you to remember your parents and their sad fate, such 
words from his lips, and under the present circum- 
stances, can hardly mean anything else than this: that 


72 


THE SISTERS. 


you should not forget how easily your father’s fate 
might overtake you also, if once you withdrew your- 
selves from the protection of the temple. It was not 
for nothing that Asclepiodorus — as you yourself told 
me quite lately, not more than a week ago I am sure — 
reminded you how often those condemned to forced 
labor in the mines liad their relations sent after them. 
Ah! child, the words of Asclepiodorus have a sinister 
meaning. The calmness and pride, with which you 
look at me make me fear for you, and yet, as you 
know, I am not one of the timid and tremulous. Cer- 
tainly what they propose to you is repulsive enough, 
but submit to it; it is to be hoped it will not be for 
long. Do it for my sake and for that of poor Irene, 
for though you might know how to assert your dignity 
and take care of yourself outside these walls in the 
rough and greedy world, little Irene never could. And 
besides, Klea, my sweetheart, we have now found some 
one, who makes your concerns his, and who is great 
and powerful — but oh! what are three days? To think 
of seeing you turned out — and then that you may be 
driven with a dissolute herd in a filthy boat down to 
the burning south, and dragged to work which kills 
first the soul and then the body! No, it is not possible! 
You will never let this happen to me — and to yourself 
and ^^ne; no, my darling, no, my pet, my sweetheart, 
you cannot, you will not do so. Are you not my 
children, my daughters, my only joy? and you, would 
you go away, and leave me alone in my cage, all be- 
cause you are so proud!” 

The strong man’s voice failed him, and heavy drops 
fell from his eyes one after another down his beard, and 
on to Klea’s arm, which he had grasped with both hands. 


THE SISTERS. 


73 


The girl’s eyes too were dim with a mist of warm 
tears when she saw her rough friend weeping, but she 
remained firm and said, as she tried to free her hand 
from his: 

‘‘You know very well, father Serapion, that there is 
much to tie me to this temple; my sister, and you, and 
the door-keeper’s child, little Philo. It would be cruel, 
dreadful to have to leave you; but I would rather en- 
dure that and every other grief than allow Irene to 
take the place of Arsinoe or the black Doris as wail- 
ing woman. Think of that bright child, painted and 
kneeling at the foot of a bier and groaning and wailing 
in mock sorrow! She would become a living lie in hu- 
man form, an object of loathing to herself, and to me 
— who stand in the place of a mother to her — from 
morning till night a martyrizing reproach! But what 
do I care about myself — I would disguise myself as the 
goddess without even making a wry face, and be led to 
the bier, and wail and groan so that every hearer would 
be cut to the heart, for my soul is already possessed by 
sorrow; it is like the eyes of a man, who has gone blind 
from the constant flow of salt tears. Perhaps singing 
the hymns of lamentation might relieve my soul, which 
is as full of sorrow as an overbrimming cup; but I 
would rather that a cloud should for ever darken the 
sun, that mists should hide every star from my eyes, 
and the air I breathe be poisoned by black smoke than 
disguise her identity, and darken her soul, or let her 
clear laugh be turned to shrieks of lamentation, and her 
fresh and childlike spirit be buried in gloomy mourning. 
Sooner will I go way with her and leave even you, to 
perish with my parents in misery and anguish than see 
that happen, or sufler it for a moment.” 


74 


THE SISTERS. 


As she spoke Serapion covered his face widi his 
hands, and Klea, hastily turning away from him, with a 
deep sigh returned to her room. 

Irene was accustomed when she heard her step to 
hasten to meet her, but to-day no one came to welcome 
her, and in their room, which was beginning to be dark 
as twilight fell, she did not immediately catch sight of 
her sister, for she was sitting all in a heap in a corner 
of the room, her face hidden in her hands and weeping 
quietly. 

‘‘ What is the matter ? ” asked Klea, going tenderly 
up to the weeping child, over whom she bent, endeav- 
oring to raise her. 

Leave me,’^ said Irene sobbing; she turned away 
from her sister with an impatient gesture, repelling her 
caress like a perverse child; and then, when Klea tried 
to soothe her by affectionately stroking her hair, she 
sprang up passionately exclaiming through her tears: 

“ I could not help crying — and, from this hour, I 
must always have to cry. The Corinthian Lysias spoke 
to me so kindly after the procession, and you — you 
don’t care about me at all and leave me alone all this 
time in this nasty dusty hole! I declare I will not en- 
dure it any longer, and if you try to keep me shut up, 
I will run away from this temple, for outside it is all 
bright and pleasant, and here it is dingy and horrid ! ” 


CHAPTER VII. 


In the very midst of the white wall with its bastions 
and ramparts, which formed the fortifications of Mem- 


THE SISTERS. 


75 


phis, stood the old palace of the kings, a stately struct^ 
lire built of bricks, recently plastered, and with courts, 
corridors, chambers and halls without number, and ve- 
randa-like out-buildings of gayly-painted wood, and a 
magnificent pillared banqueting-hall in the Greek style. 
It was surrounded by verdurous gardens, and a whole 
host of laborers tended the flower-beds and shady alleys^ 
the shrubs and the trees; kept the tanks clean and fed 
the fish in them; guarded the beast-garden, in which 
quadrupeds of every kind, from the heavy-treading 
elephant to the light-footed antelope, were to be seen, 
associated with birds innumerable of every country and 
climate. 

A light white vapor rose from the splendidly fitted 
bath-house, loud barkings resounded from the dog-ken- 
nels, and from the long array of open stables came the 
neighing of horses with the clatter and stamp of hoofs, 
and the rattle of harness and chains. A semicircular 
building of new construction adjoining the old palace 
was the theatre, and many large tents for the body- 
guard, for ambassadors and scribes, as well as others 
serving as banqueting-halls for the various court-officials, 
stood both within the garden and outside its enclosing 
walls. A large space leading from the city itself to the 
royal citadel was given up to the soldiers, and there, by 
the side of the shady court-yards, were the houses of 
the police-guard and the prisons. Other soldiers were 
quartered in tents close to the walls of the palace itself. 

The clatter of their arms and the words of command, 
given in Greek, by their captain, sounded out at this 
particular instant, and up into the part of the buildings 
occupied by the queen; and her apartments were high 
up, for in sumjner time Cleopatra preferred to live in 


76 


THE SISTERS. 


airy tents, which stood among the broacl-leaved trees of 
the south and whole groves of flowering shrubs, on 
the level roof of the palace, which was also lavishly 
decorated with marble statues. There was only one 
way of access to this retreat, which was fitted up with 
regal splendor; day and night it was fanned by currents 
of soft air, and no one could penetrate uninvited to 
disturb the queen’s retirement, for veteran guards 
watched at the foot of the broad stair that led to the 
roof, chosen from the Macedonian ‘‘Garde noble,” and 
owing as implicit obedience to Cleopatra as to the king 
himself. This select corps was now, at sunset, relieving 
guard, and the queen could hear the words spoken by 
the officers in command and the clatter of the shields 
against the swords as they rattled on the pavement, for 
she had come out of her tent into the open air, and 
stood gazing towards the west, where the glorious hues 
of the sinking sun flooded the bare, yellow limestone 
range of the Libyan hills, with their innumerable tombs 
and the separate groups of pyramids; while the won- 
derful coloring gradually tinged with rose-color the light 
silvery clouds that hovered in the clear sky over the 
valley of Memphis, and edged them as with a rim of 
living gold. 

The queen stepped out of her tent, accompanied by 
a young Greek girl — the fair Zoe, daughter of her mas- 
ter oflhe hunt Zenodotus, and Cleopatra’s favorite lady- 
in-waiting — but though she looked towards the west, 
she stood unmoved by the magic of the glorious scene 
before her; she screened her eyes with her hand to 
shade them from the blinding rays, and said: 

“Where can Cornelius be staying! When we 
mounted our chariots before the temple he had vanished, 


THE SISTERS. 


17 


and as far as I can see the road in the quarters of So- 
kari and Serapis I cannot discover his vehicle, nor that 
of Eulaeus who was to accompany him. It is not very 
polite of him to go off in this way without taking leave; 
nay, I could call it ungrateful, since I had proposed to 
tell him on our way home all about my brother Euer- 
getes, who has arrived to-day with his friends. They 
are not yet acquainted, for Euergetes was living in 
Cyrene when Publius Cornelius Scipio landed in Alex- 
andria. Stay! do you see a black shadow out there by 
the vineyard at Kakem; That is very likely he; but no 
— you are right, it is only some birds, flying in a close 
mass above the road. Can you see nothing more? 
No! and yet we both have sharp young eyes. I am 
very curious to know whether Publius Scipio will like 
Euergetes. There can hardly be two beings more un- 
like, and yet they have some very essential points in 
common.” 

‘‘They are both men,” interrupted Zoe, looking at 
the queen as if she expected cordial assent to this pro- 
position. 

“So they are,” said Cleopatra proudly. “My broth- 
er is still so young that, if he were not a king’s son, 
he would hardly have outgrown the stage of boyhood, 
and would be a lad among other Epheboi,* and yet 
among the oldest there is hardly a man who is his 
superior in strength of will and determined energy. 
Already, before I married Philometor, he had clutched 
Alexandria and Cyrene, which by right should belong 
to my husband, who is the eldest of us three, and that 
was not very brotherly conduct — and indeed we had 
other grounds for being angry with him; but when I 

* Youths above i8 were so called. 


78 


THE SISTERS. 


saw him again for the first time after nine months of 
separation I was obliged to forget them all, and wel- 
come him as though he had done nothing but good to 
me and his brother — who is my husband, as is the cus- 
tom of the families of Pharaohs and the usage of our 
race. He is a young Titan, and no one would be aston- 
ished if he one day succeeded in piling Pelion upon 
Ossa. I know well enough how wild he can often be, 
how unbridled and recalcitrant beyond all bounds; but 
I can easily pardon him, for the same bold blood flows 
in my own veins, and at the root of all his excesses lies 
power, genuine and vigorous power. And this innate 
pith and power are just the very thing we most admire 
in men, for it is the one gift which the gods have dealt 
out to us with a less liberal hand than to men. Life 
indeed generally dams its overflowing current, but I 
doubt whether this will be the case with the stormy 
torrent of his energy; at any rate men such as he is 
rush swiftly onwards, and are strong to the end, which 
sooner or later is sure to overtake them ; and I infinitely 
prefer such a wild torrent to a shallow brook flowing 
over a plain, which hurts no one, and which in order to 
prolong its life loses itself in a misty bog. He, if any 
one, may be forgiven for his tumultuous career; for when 
he pleases my brother’s great qualities charm old and 
young alike, and are as conspicuous and as remarkable 
as his faults — nay, I will frankly say his crimes. And 
who in Greece or Egypt surpasses him in grasp and 
elevation of mind ? ” 

‘‘You may well be proud of him,” replied Zoe. 
“Not even Publius Scipio himself can soar to the height 
reached by Euergetes.” 

“But, on the other hand, Euergetes is not gifted 


THE SISTERS. 


79 


^\•ith the steady, calm self-reliance of Cornelius. The 
man who should unite in one person the good qualities 
of those two, need yield the palm, as it seems to me, 
not even to a god! ” 

Among us imperfect mortals he would indeed be 
the only perfect one,” replied Zoe. “But the gods 
could not endure the existence of a perfect man, for 
then they would have to undertake the undignified task 
of competing with one of their own creatures.” 

“Here, however, comes one whom no one can 
accuse!” cried the young queen, as she hastened to 
meet a richly dressed woman, older than herself, who 
came towards her leading her son, a pale child of two 
years old. She bent down to the little one, tenderly 
but with impetuous eagerness, and was about to clasp 
him in her arms, but the fragile child, which at first had 
smiled at her, was startled; he turned away from her' 
and tried to hide his little face in the dress of his 
nurse — a lady of rank — to whom he clung with both 
hands. The queen threw herself on her knees before 
him, took hold of his shoulder, and partly by coaxing 
and partly by insistence strove to induce him to quit the 
sheltering gown and to turn to her; but although the 
lady, his wet-nurse, seconded her with kind words of 
encouragement, the terrified child began to cry, and 
resisted his mother’s caresses with more and more 
vehemence the more passionately she tried to attract 
and conciliate him. At last the nurse lifted him up, 
and was about to hand him to his mother, but the 
wilful little boy cried more than before, and throwing 
his arms convulsively round his nurse’s neck he broke 
into loud cries. 

In the midst of this rather unbecoming struggle of 


So 


THE SISTERS. 


the mother against the child’s obstinacy, the clatter of 
wheels and of horses’ hoofs rang through the court-yard 
of the palace, and hardly had the sound reached the 
queen’s ears than she turned away from the screaming 
child, hurried to the parapet of the roof, and called out 
to Zoe: 

‘‘Publius Scipio is here; it is high time that I should 
dress for the banquet. Will that naughty child not 
listen to me at all? Take him away, Praxinoa, and 
understand distinctly that I am much dissatisfied with 
you. You estrange my own child from me to curry 
favor with the future king. That is base, or else it 
proves that you have no tact, and are incompetent for 
the office entrusted to you. The office of wet-nurse you 
duly fulfilled, but I shall now look out for another at- 
tendant for the boy. Do not answer me! no tears! I 
have had enough of that with the child’s screaming.” 

With these words, spoken loudly and passionately, 
she turned her back on Praxinoa — the wife of a dis- 
tinguished Macedonian noble, who stood as if petri- 
fied — and retired into her tent, where branched lamps 
had just been placed on littie tables of elegant 
workmanship. Like all the other furniture in the 
queen’s dressing-tent these were made of gleaming ivory, 
standing out in fine relief from the tent-cloth which was 
sky-bl^e woven with silver lilies and ears of corn, and 
from the tiger-skins which covered all the cushions, 
while white woollen carpets, bordered with a waving 
scroll in blue, were spread on the ground. 

The queen threw herself on a seat in front of her 
dressing-table, and sat staring at herself in a mirror, as 
if she now saw her face and her abundant, reddish-fair 
hair for the first time; then she said, half turning to Zoe 


THE SISTERS. 


8r 


and half to her favorite Athenian waiting-maid, who 
stood behind her with her other women : 

‘^It was folly to dye my dark hair light; but now it 
may remain so, for Publius Scipio, who has no suspicion 
of our arts, thought this color pretty and uncommon, 
and never will know its origin. That Egyptian head-^ 
dress with the vulture’s head which the king likes best 
to see me in, the young Greek Lysias and the Roman 
too, call barbaric, and so every one must call it who is 
not interested in the Egyptians. But to-night we are 
only ourselves, so I will wear the chaplet of golden 
corn with sapphire grapes. Do you think, Zoe, that 
with that I could wear the dress of transparent bombyx 
silk that came yesterday from Cos? But no, I will not 
wear that, for it is too slight a tissue, it hides nothing 
and I am now too thin for it to become me. All the 
lines in my throat show, and my elbows are quite 
sharp — altogether I am much thinner. That comes of 
incessant worry, annoyance, and anxiety. How angry 
I was yesterday at the council, because my husband 
will always give way and agree and try to be pleasant; 
whenever a refusal is necessary I have to interfere, un- 
willing as I am to do it, and odious as it is to me 
always to have to stir up discontent, disappointment, 
and disaffection, to take things on myself and to be re- 
garded as hard and heartless in order that my husband 
may preserve undiminished the doubtful glory of being 
the gentlest and kindest of men and princes. My son’s 
having a will of his own leads to agitating scenes, but 
even that is better than that Philopator should rush 
into everybody’s arms. The first thing in bringing up 
a boy should be to teach him to say ‘no.’ I often say 
‘yes’ myself when I should not, but I am a woman, and 


82 


THE SISTERS. 


yielding becomes us better than refusal — and what is 
there of greater importance to a woman than to do 
what becomes her best, and to seem beautiful ? 

I will decide on this pale dress, and put over it the 
net-work of gold thread with sapphire knots; that will 
-go well with the head-dress. Take care with your 
comb, Thais, you are hurting me! Now — I must not 
chatter any more. Zoe, give me the roll yonder; I 
must collect my thoughts a little before I go down to 
talk among men at the banquet. When we have just 
come from visiting the realm of death and of Serapis, 
and have been reminded of the immortality of the soul 
and of our lot in the next world, we are glad to read 
through what the most estimable of human thinkers 
has said concerning such things. Begin here, Zoe.” 

Cleopatra’s companion, thus addressed, signed to 
the unoccupied waiting-women to withdraw, seated 
herself on a low cushion opposite the queen, and began 
to read with an intelligent and practised intonation; the 
reading went on for some time uninterrupted by any 
sound but the clink of metal ornaments, the rustle of 
rich stuffs, the trickle of oils or perfumes as they were 
dropped into the crystal bowls, the short and whispered 
questions of the women who were attiring the queen, or 
Cleopatra’s no less low and rapid answers. 

^1 the waiting-women not immediately occupied 
about the queen’s ])erson — perhaps twenty in all, young 
and old — ranged themselves along the sides of the great 
tent, either standing or sitting on the ground or on 
cushions, and awaiting the moment when it should be 
their turn to perform some service, as motionless as 
though spellbound by the mystical words of a magi- 
cian. They only made signs to each other with their 


THE SISTERS. 


83 


eyes and fingers, for they knew that the queen did not 
choose to be disturbed when she was being read to, and 
that she never hesitated to cast aside anything or any- 
body that crossed her wishes or inclinations, like a tight 
shoe or a broken lutestring. 

Her features were irregular and sharp, her cheek- 
bones too strongly developed, and the lips, behind 
which her teeth gleamed pearly white — though too 
widely set — were too full; still, so. long as she exerted 
her great powers of concentration, and listened with 
hashing eyes, like those of a prophetess, and parted lips 
to the words of Plato, her face had worn an indescriba- 
ble glow of feeling, which seemed to have come upon 
her from a higher and better world, and she had looked 
far more beautiful than now when she was fully dressed, 
and when her women crowded round her — Zoe having, 
laid aside the Plato — with loud and unmeasured 
flattery. 

Cleopatra delighted in being thus feted, and, in 
order to enjoy the adulation of a throng, she would 
always when dressing have a great number of women 
to attend her toilet; mirrors were held up to her on 
every side, a fold set right, and the jewelled straps of 
her sandals adjusted. 

One praised the abundance of her hair, another the 
slenderness of her form, the slimness of her ankles, and 
the smallness of her tiny hands and feet. One maiden 
remarked to another — but loud enough to be heard — 
on the brightness of her eyes which were clearer than 
the sapphires on her brow, while the Athenian waiting- 
woman, Thais, declared that Cleopatra had grown 
fatter, for her golden belt was less easy to clasp than it 
had been ten days previously. 


84 


THE SISTERS. 


The queen presently signed to Zoe, who threw a 
little silver ball into a bowl of the same metal, elabo- 
rately wrought and decorated, and in a few minutes the 
tramp of the body-guard was audible outside the door 
of the tent. 

Cleopatra went out, casting a rapid glance over the 
roof — now brightly illuminated with cressets and 
torches — and the white marble statues that gleamed out 
in relief against the dark clumps of shrubs; and then, 
without even looking at the tent where her children 
were asleep, she approached the litter, which had been 
brought up to the roof for her by the young Macedo- 
nian nobles. Zoe and Thais assisted her to mount into 
it, and her ladies, waiting-women, and others who had 
hurried out of the other tents, formed a row on each 
, side of the way, and hailed their mistress with loud 
cries of admiration and delight as she passed by, lifted 
high above them all on the shoulders of her bearers. 
The diamonds in the handle of her feather-fan sparkled 
brightly as Cleopatra waved a gracious adieu to her 
women, an adieu which did not fail to remind them 
how infinitely beneath her were those she greeted. 
Every movement of her hand was full of regal pride, 
and her eyes, unveiled and untempered, were radiant 
with a young woman’s pleasure in a perfect toilet, with 
satisiaction in her own person, and with the anticipa- 
tion of the festive hours before her. 

The litter disappeared behind the door of the broad 
steps that led up to the roof, and Thais, sighing softly, 
said to herself, “ If only for once I could ride through 
the air in just such a pretty shell of colored and shining 
mother-of-pearl, like a goddess! carried aloft by young 
men, and hailed and admired by all around me! High 


THE SISTERS. 


8s 


lip there the growing Selene floats calmly and silently 
by the tiny stars, and just so did she ride past in her 
purple robe with her torch-bearers and flames and 
lights — past us humble creatures, and between the tents 
to . the banquet — and to what a banquet, and what 
guests! Everything up here greets her with rejoicing, 
and I could almost fancy that among those still marble 
statues even the stern face of Zeno had parted its lips, 
and spoken flattering words to her. And yet poor little 
Zoe, and the fair-haired Lysippa, and the black-haired 
daughter of Demetrius, and even I, poor wretch, 
should be handsomer, far handsomer than she, if we 
could dress ourselves with fine clothes and jewels for 
which kings would sell their kingdoms; if we could 
play Aphrodite as she does, and ride off in a shell borne 
aloft on emerald-green glass to look as if it were float- 
ing on the waves; if dolphins set with pearls and tur- 
quoises served us for a footstool, and white ostrich- 
plumes floated over our heads, like the silvery clouds 
that float over Athens in the sky of a fine spring day. 
The transparent tissue that she dared not put on would 
well become me! If only that were true which Zoe was 
reading yesterday, that the souls of men were destined 
to visit the earth again and again in new forms! Then 
perhaps mine might some day come into the world in 
that of a king’s child. I should not care to be a prince, 
so much is expected of him, but a princess indeed! 
That would be lovely !” 

These and such like were Thais’ dreams, while Zoe 
stood outside the tent of the royal children with her 
cousin, the chief-attendant of prince Philopator, carry- 
ing on an eager conversation in a low tone. The 
child’s nurse from time to time dried her eyes and 


86 


THE SISTERS. 


sobbed bitterly as she said : My own baby, my other 
children, my husband and our beautiful house in Alex- 
andria — I left them all to suckle and rear a prince. I 
have sacrificed happiness, freedom, and my nights’-sleep 
for the sake of the queen and of this child, and how am 
I repaid for all this? As if I were a lowborn wench 
instead of the daughter and wife of noble men; this 
woman, half a child still, scarcely yet nineteen, dismisses 
me from her service before you and all her ladies 
every ten days! And why? Because the ungoverned 
blood of her race flows in her son’s veins, and because 
he does not rush into the arms of a mother who for 
days does not ask for him at all, and never troubles 
herself about him but in some idle moment when she 
has gratified every other whim. Princes distribute 
favor or disgrace with justice only so long as they are 
children. The little one understands very well what I 
am to him, and sees what Cleopatra is. If I could find 
it in my heart to ill-use him in secret, this mother — who 
is not fit to be a mother — would soon have her way. 
Hard as it would be to me so soon to leave the poor 
feeble little child, who has grown as dear to my soul as 
my own — aye and closer, even closer, as I may well 
say — this time I will do it, even at the risk of Cleo- 
patra’s plunging us into ruin, my husband and me, as 
she has done to so many who have dared to contra- 
vene her will.” 

The wet-nurse wept aloud, but Zoe laid her hand on 
the distressed woman’s shoulder, and said soothingly: 

know you have more to submit to from Cleo- 
patra’s humors than any of us all, but do not be over- 
hasty. To-morrow she will send you a handsome 
present, as she so often has done after being unkind; 


THE SISTERS. 


87 


and though she vexes and hurts you again and again, 
she will try to make up for it again and again till, when 
this year is over, your attendance on the prince will be 
at an end, and you can go home again to your own 
family. We all have to practise patience; we live like 
people dwelling in a ruinous house with to-day a stone 
and to-morrow a beam threatening to fall upon our 
heads. If we each take calmly whatever befalls us our 
masters try to heal our wounds, but if we resist may the 
gods have mercy on us! for Cleopatra is like a strung 
bow, which sets the. arrow flying as soon as a child, a 
mouse, a breath of air even touches it — like an over-full 
cup which brims over if a leaf, another drop, a single 
tear falls into it. We should, any one of us, soon be 
worn out by such a life, but she needs excitement, tur- 
moil and amusement at every hour. She comes home 
late from a feast, spends barely six hours in disturbed 
slumber, and has hardly rested so long as it takes a 
pebble^o fall to the ground from a crane’s claw before 
we have to dress her again for another meal. From the 
council-board she goes to hear some learned discourse, 
from her books in the temple to sacrifice and prayer, 
from the sanctuary to the workshops of artists, from 
pictures and statues to the audience-chamber, from a 
reception of her subjects and of foreigners to her writ- 
ing-room, from answering letters to a procession and 
worship once more, from the sacred services back again 
to her dressing-tent, and there, while she is being attired 
she listens to me while I read the most profound works 
— and how she listens! not a word escapes her, and 
her memory retains whole sentences. Amid all this 
hurry and scurry her spirit must need be like a limb that 
is sore from violent exertion, and that is painfully ten- 


88 


THE SISTERS. 


der to every rough touch. We are to her neither more 
nor less than the wretched flies which we hit at when 
they trouble us, and may the gods be merciful to those 
on whom this queen’s hand may fall ! Euergetes cleaves 
with the sword all that comes in his way. Cleopatra 
stabs with the dagger, and her hand wields the united 
power of her own might and of her yielding husband’s. 
Do not provoke her. Submit to what you cannot avert; 
just as I never complain when, if I make a mistake in 
reading, she snatches the book from my hand, or flings 
it at my feet. But I, of course, have only myself to 
fear for, and you have your husband and children as 
well.” 

Praxinoa bowed her head at these words in sad as- 
sent, and said: 

‘‘Thank you for those words! I always think only 
from my heart, and you mostly from your head. You 
are right, this time again there is nothing for me to do 
but to be patient; but when I have fulfilled the duties 
here, which I undertook, and am at home again, I will 
offer a great sacrifice to Asclepias and Hygiea, like a 
person recovered from a severe illness; and one thing 
I know: that I would rather be a poor girl, grinding at 
a mill, than change with this rich and adored queen 
who, in order to enjoy her life to the utmost, carelessly 
and re^lessly hurries past all that our mortal lot has 
best to offer. Terrible, hideous to me seems such an 
existence with no rest in it! and the heart of a mother 
which is so much occupied with other things that she 
cannot win the love of her child, which blossoms for 
every hired nurse, must be as waste as the desert! 
Rather would I endure anything — everything — with 
patience than be such a queen ! ” 


THE SISTERS. 


89 


CHAPTER VIII. 

^^What! No one to come to meet me?’^ asked the 
queen, as she reached the foot of the last flight of por- 
phyry steps that led into the ante-chamber to the ban- 
queting-hall, and, looking round, with an ominous glance, 
at the chamberlains who had accompanied her, she 
clinched her small fist. arrive and find no one 

here!” 

The ‘‘No one” certainly was a figure of speech, 
since more than a hundred body-guards — Macedonians 
in rich array of arms — and an equal number of distin- 
guished court-officials were standing on the marble flags 
of the vast hall, which was surrounded by colonnades, 
while the star-spangled night-sky was all its roof; and 
the court-attendants were all men of rank, dignified by 
the titles of fathers, brothers, relatives, friends and chief- 
friends of the king. 

These all received the queen with a many-voiced 
“Hail!” but not one of them seemed worthy of Cleo- 
patra’s notice. This crowd was less to her than the air 
we breathe in order to live — a mere obnoxious vapor, 
a whirl of dust which the traveller would gladly avoid, 
but which he must nevertheless encounter in order to 
proceed on his way. 

The queen had expected that the few guests, invited 
by her selection and that of her brother Euergetes to 
the evening’s feast, would have welcomed her here at 
the steps; she thought they would have seen her — as 
she felt herself — like a goddess borne aloft in her shell, 


90 


THE SISTERS. 


and that she might have exulted in the admiring aston- 
ishment of the Roman and of Lysias, the Corinthian: 
and now the most critical instant in the part she meant 
to play that evening had proved a failure, and it sug- 
gested itself to her mind that she might be borne back 
to her roof-tent, and be floated down once more when 
she was sure of the presence of the company. But there 
was one thing she dreaded more even than pain and 
remorse, and that was any appearance of the ridiculous; 
so she only commanded the bearers to stand still, and 
while the master of the ceremonies, waiving his dignity, 
hurried off to announce to her husband that she was 
approaching, she signed to the nobles highest in rank to 
approach, that she might address a few gracious words 
to them, with distant amiability. Only a few however, 
for the doors of thyia wood leading into the banqueting- 
hall itself, presently opened, and the king with his friends 
came forward to meet Cleopatra. 

‘‘ How were we to expect you so early ? cried Phil- 
ometor to his wife. 

‘Hs it really still early?’* asked the queen, “or have 
I only taken you by surprise, because you had forgotten 
to expect me?” 

“ How unjust you are!” replied the king. “Must 
you now be told that, come as early as you will, you 
alway^come too late for my desires.” 

“But for ours,” cried Lysias, “neither too early nor 
too late, but at the very right time — like returning health 
and happiness, or the victor’s crown.” 

“Health as taking the place of sickness?” asked 
Cleopatra, and her eyes sparkled keenly and merrily. 

“I perfectly understand Lysias,” said Publius, inter- 
cepting the Greek. “ Once, on the field of Mars, I was 


THE SISTERS. 


91 


flung from my horse, and had to lie for weeks on my 
couch, and I know that there is no more delightful sen- 
sation than that of feeling our departed strength return- 
ing as we recover. He means to say that in your pres- 
ence we must feel exceptionally well.” 

‘‘Nay rather,” interrupted Lysias, “our queen 
seems to come to us like returning health, since so 
loiig as she was not in our midst we felt suffering 
and sick for longing. Thy presence, Cleopatra, is 
the most effectual remedy, and restores us to our 
lost health.” 

Cleopatra politely lowered her fan, as if in thanks,, 
thus rapidly turning the stick of it in her hand, so as to 
make the diamonds that were set in it sparkle and flash. 
Then she turned to the friends, and said: 

“Your words are most amiable, and your different 
ways of expressing your meaning remind me of two 
gems set in a jewel, one of which sparkles because it is 
skilfully cut, and reflects every light from its mirror- 
like facets, while the other shines by its genuine and in- 
trinsic fire. The genuine and the true are one, and the 
Egyptians have but one word for both, and your kind 
speech, my Scipio — ^but I may surely venture to call you 
Publius — your kind speech, my Publius seems to me 
to be truer than that of your accomplished friend^ 
which is better adapted to vainer ears than mine. 
Pray, give me' your hand.” 

The shell in which she was sitting was gently low- 
ered, and, supported by Publius and her husband, the 
queen alighted and entered the banqueting-hall, accom- 
panied by her guests. 

As soon as the curtains v/ere closed, and when Cleo- 
patra had exchanged a few whispered words with her 


92 


THE SISTERS. 


husband, she turned again to the Roman, who had just 
been joined by Eulaeus, and said: 

‘‘You have come from Athens, Publius, but you do 
not seem to have followed very closely the courses of 
logic there, else how could it be that you, who regard 
health as the highest good — that you, who declared 
that you never felt so well as in my presence — should 
have quitted me so promptly after the procession, and 
in spite of our appointment? May I be allowed to ask 
what business — ” 

“ Our noble friend,” answered Eulaeus, bowing low, 
but not allowing the queen to finish her speech, “would 
seem to have found some particular charm in the 
bearded recluses of Serapis, and to be seeking among 
them the key-stone of his studies at Athens.” 

“In that he is very right,” said the queen. “For 
from them he can learn to direct his attention to that 
third division of our existence, concerning which least 
is taught in Athens — I mean the future — ” 

“That is in the hands of the gods,” replied the 
Roman. “It will come soon enough, and I did not 
discuss it with the anchorite. Eulaeus may be informed 
that, on the contrary, everything I learned from that 
singular man in the Serapeum bore reference to the 
things of the past.” 

“ Ej^t how can it be possible,” said Eulaeus, “ that 
any one to whom Cleopatra had offered her society 
should think so long of anything else than the beautiful 
present ? ” 

“You indeed have good reason,” retorted Publius 
quickly, “to enter the lists in behalf of the present, and 
never willingly to recall the past.” 

“It was full of anxiety and care,” replied Eulaeus 


THE SISTERS. 


93 


with perfect self-possession. ‘‘That my sovereign lady 
must know from her illustrious mother, and from her 
own experience; and she will also protect me from the 
undeserved hatred with which certain powerful enemies 
seem minded to pursue me. Permit me, your majesty^ 
not to make my appearance at the banquet until later. 
This noble gentleman kept me waiting for hours in the 
Serapeum, and the proposals concerning the new build- 
ing in the temple of Isis at Philae must be drawn up and 
engrossed to-day, in order that they may be brought 
to-morrow before your royal husband in council and 
your illustrious brother Euergetes — ” 

“You have leave, interrupted Cleopatra.’’ 

As soon as Eulseus had disappeared, the queen 
went closer up to Publius, and said: 

“You are annoyed with this man — well, he is not 
pleasant, but at any rate he is useful and worthy. May 
I ask whether you only feel his personality repugnant 
to you, or whether actual circumstances have given rise 
to your aversion — nay, if I have judged rightly, to a 
very bitterly hostile feeling against him ? ” 

“Both,” replied Publius. “In this unmanly man^ 
from the very first, I expected to find nothing good, and 
I now know that, if I erred at all, it was in his favor. 
To-morrow I will ask you to spare me an hour when I 
can communicate to your majesty something concerning 
him, but which is too repulsive and sad to be suitable 
for telling in an evening devoted to enjoyment. You 
need not be inquisitive, for they are matters that 
belong to the past, and which concern neither you nor 
me.” 

The high-steward and the cup-bearer here interrupted 
this conversation by calling them to table, and the royal 


94 


THE SISTERS. 


pair were soon reclining with their guests at the festal 
board. 

Oriental splendor and Greek elegance were com- 
bined in the decorations of the saloon of moderate size, 
in which Ptolemy Philometor was wont to prefer to 
hold high-festival with a few chosen friends. Like the 
great reception-hall and the men’s hall — with its twenty 
doors and lofty porphyry columns — in which the king’s 
guests assembled, it was lighted from above, since it 
was only at the sides that the walls — which had no 
windows — and a row of graceful alabaster columns with 
Corinthian acanthus-capitals supported a narrow roof; 
the centre of the hall was quite uncovered. At this 
hour, when it was blazing with hundreds of lights, the 
large opening, which by day admitted the bright sun- 
shine, was closed over by a gold net-work, decorated 
with stars and a crescent moon of rock-crystal, and the 
meshes were close enough to exclude the bats and moths 
which at night always fly to the light. But the illumi- 
nation of the king’s banqueting-hall made it almost as 
light as day, consisting of numerous lamps with many 
branches held up by lovely little figures of children in 
bronze and marble. Every joint was plainly visible in 
the mosaic of the pavement, which represented the re- 
ception of Heracles into Olympus, the feast of the gods, 
and th^ astonishment of the amazed hero at the splen- 
dor of the celestial banquet; and hundreds of torches 
were reflected in the walls of polished yellow marble, 
brought from Hippo Regius; these were inlaid by 
skilled artists with costly stones,. such as lapis lazuli and 
malachite, crystals, blood-stone, jasper, agates and chal- 
cedony, to represent fruit-pieces and magnificent groups 
of game or of musical instruments; while the pilasters 


THE SISTERS. 


95 


were decorated with masks of the tragic and comic 
Muses, torches, thyrsi wreathed with ivy and vine, and 
pan-pipes. These were wrought in silver and gold, and 
set with costly marbles, and they stood out from, the 
marble background like metal work on a leather shield, 
or the rich ornamentation on a sword-sheath. The fig- 
ures of a Dionysiac procession, forming the frieze, looked 
down upon the feasters — a fine relievo that had been 
designed and modelled for Ptolemy Soter by the sculp- 
tor Bryaxis, and then executed in ivory and gold. 

Everything that met the eye in this hall was splen- 
did, costly, and above all of a genial aspect, even before 
Cleopatra had come to the throne ; and she — here as 
in her own apartments — had added the busts of the 
greatest Greek philosophers and poets, from Thales of 
Miletus down to Strato, who raised cha7ice to fill the 
throne of God, and from Hesiod to Callimachus; she 
too had placed the tragic mask side by side with the 
comic, for at her table — she was wont to say — she de- 
sired to see no one who could not enjoy grave and wise 
discourse more than eating, drinking, and laughter. 

Instead of assisting at the banquet, as other ladies 
used, seated on a chair or at the foot of her husband’s 
couch, she reclined on a couch of her own, behind 
which stood busts of Sappho the poetess, and Aspasia 
the friend of Pericles. 

Though she made no pretensions to be regarded as 
a philosopher nor^ even as a poetess, she asserted her 
right to be considered a finished connoisseur in the arts 
of poetry and music; and if she preferred reclining to 
sitting how should she have done otherwise, since she 
was fully aware how well it became her to extend her- 
self in a picturesque attitude on her cushions, and to 


96 


THE SISTERS. 


support her head on her arm as it rested on the back of 
her couch; for that arm, though not strictly speaking 
beautiful, always displayed the finest specimens of Alex- 
andrian workmanship in gem-cutting and goldsmiths’ 
work. 

But, in fact, she selected a reclining posture partic- 
ularly for the sake of showing her feet; not a woman 
in Egypt or Greece had a smaller or more finely formed 
foot than she. For this reason her sandals were so 
made that when she stood or walked they protected 
only the soles of her feet, and her slender white toes 
with the roseate nails and their polished white half- 
moons were left uncovered. 

At the banquet she put off her shoes altogether, as 
the men did; hiding her feet at first however, and not 
displaying them till she thought the marks left on her 
tender skin by the straps of the sandals had completely 
disappeared. 

Eulaeus was the greatest admirer of these feet; not, 
as he averred, on account of their beauty, but because 
the play of the queen’s toes showed him exactly what 
was passing in her mind, when he was quite unable to 
detect what was agitating her soul in the expression of 
her mouth and eyes, well practised in the arts of dis- 
simulation. 

Nine couches, arranged three and three in a horse- 
shoe, invited the guests to repose, with their arms of 
ebony and cushions of dull olive-green brocade, on 
which a delicate pattern of gold and silver seemed just 
to have been breathed. 

The queen, shrugging her shoulders, and, as it would 
seem, by no means agreeably surprised at something, 
whispered to the chamberlain, who then indicated to 


THE SISTERS. 


97 


each guest the place he was to occupy. To the right 
of the central group reclined the queen, and her hus- 
band took his place to the left; the couch between the 
royal pair, destined for their brother Euergetes, re- 
mained unoccupied. 

On one of the three couches which formed the 
right-hand angle with those of the royal family, Publius 
found a place next to Cleopatra; opposite to him, and 
next the king, was Lysias the Corinthian. Two places 
next to him remained vacant, while on the side by the 
Roman reclined the brave and prudent Hierax, the 
' friend of Ptolemy Euergetes and his most faithful fol- 
lower. 

While the servants strewed the couches with rose- 
leaves, sprinkled perfumed waters, and placed by the 
couch of each guest a small table — made of silver and 
of a slab of fine, reddish-brown porphyry, veined with 
white — the king addressed a pleasant greeting to each 
guest, apologizing for the smallness of the number. 

‘^Eulaeus,^’ he said, ‘Tias been forced to leave us on 
business, and our royal brother is still sitting over his 
books with Aristarchus, who came with him from Alex- 
andria; but he promised certainly to come.” 

‘^The fewer we are,” replied Lysias, bowing low, 
‘‘the more honorable is the distinction of belonging to 
so limited a number of your majesty’s most select asso- 
ciates.” 

“I certainly think we have chosen the best from 
among the good,” said the queen. “But even the 
small number of friends I had invited must have seemed 
too large to my brother Euergetes, for he — who is ac- 
customed to command in other folks’ houses as he does 
in his own — forbid the chamberlain to invite our learned 


7 


98 


THE SISTERS. 


friends — among whom Agatharchides, my brothers’ and 
my own most worthy tutor, is known to you — as well 
as our J ewish friends who were present yesterday at our 
table, and whom I had set down on my list. I am 
very well satisfied however, for I like the number of 
the Muses; and perhaps he desired to do you, Publius, 
particular honor, since we are assembled here in the 
Roman fashion. It is in your honor, and not in his, 
that we have no music this evening; you said that you 
did not particularly like it at a banquet. Euergetes 
himself plays the harp admirably. However, it is well 
that he is late in coming as usual, for the day after to- 
morrow is his birthday, and he is to spend it here with 
us and not in Alexandria; the priestly delegates as- 
sembled in the Bruchion are to come from thence to 
Memphis to wish him joy, and we must endeavor to 
get up some brilliant festival. You have no love for 
Eulaeus, Publius, but he is extremely skilled in such 
matters, and I hope he will presently return to give us 
his advice.” 

‘^For the morning we will have a grand proces- 
sion,” cried the king. Euergetes delights in a splendid 
spectacle, and I should be glad to sho\v^ him how much 
pleasure his visit has given us.” 

The king’s fine features wore a most winning ex- 
pression as he spoke these words with heart-felt warmth, 
but his consort said thoughtfully: “Aye! if only we 
were in Alexandria — but here, among all the Egyptian 
people — ” 


THE SISTERS. 


99 


CHAPTER IX. 

A LOUD laugh re-echoing from the marble walls of 
the state-room interrupted the queen’s speech; at first 
she started, but then smiled with pleasure as she recog- 
nized her brother Euergetes, who, pushing aside the 
chamberlains, approached the company with an elderly 
Greek, who walked by his side. 

‘‘By all the dwellers on Olympus! By the whole 
rabble of gods and beasts that live in the temples by 
the Nile!” cried the new-comer, again laughing so 
heartily that not only his fat cheeks but his whole im- 
mensely stout young frame swayed and shook. “By 
your pretty little feet, Cleopatra, which could so easily 
be hidden, and yet are always to be seen — by all your 
gentle virtues, Philometor, I believe you are trying to 
outdo the great Philadelphus or our Syrian uncle Anti- 
ochus, and to get up a most unique procession ; and in 
my honor! Just so! I myself will take a part in the 
wonderful affair, and my sturdy person shall represent 
Eros with his quiver and bow. Some Ethiopian dame 
must play the part of my mother Aphrodite; she will 
look the part to perfection, rising from the white sea- 
foam with her black skin. And what do you think of 
a Pallas with short woolly hair; of the Charities with 
broad, fiat Ethiopian feet; and an Egyptian, with his 
shaven head mirroring the sun, as Phoebus Apollo ? ” 

With these words the young giant of twenty years 
threw himself on the vacant couch between his brother 
and sister, and, after bowing, not without dignity, to the 

7 * 


lOO 


THE SISTERS. 


Roman, whom his brother named to him, he called one 
of the young Macedonians of noble birth who served 
at the feast as cup-bearers, had his cup filled once and 
again and yet a third time, drinking it off quickly and 
without setting it down ; then he said in a loud tone, 
while he pushed his hands through his tossed, light 
brown hair, till it stood straight up in the air from his 
broad temples and high brow: 

I must make up for what you have had before I 
came. — Another cup-full Diocleides.” 

‘AVild boy!” said Cleopatra, holding up her finger 
at him half in jest and half in grave warning. ‘‘ How 
strange you look!” 

‘‘ Like. Silenus without the goat’s hoofs,” answered 
Euergetes. ‘‘Hand me a mirror here, Diocleides; fol- 
low the eyes of her majesty the queen, and you will be 
sure to find one. There is the thing! And in fact the 
picture it shows me does not displease me. I see there 
a head on which besides the two crowns of Egypt a 
third might well find room, and in which there is so 
much brains that they might suffice to fill the skulls of 
four kings to the brim. I see two vulture’s eyes which 
are always keen of sight even when their owner is 
drunk, and that are in danger of no peril save from the 
flesh of these jolly cheeks, which, if they continue to in- 
crease^sd fast, must presently exclude the light, as the 
growth of the wood encloses a piece of money stuck 
into a rift in a tree — or as a shutter, when it is pushed 
to, closes up a window. With these hands and arms the 
fellow I see in the mirror there could, at need, choke a 
hippopotamus; the chain that is to deck this neck must 
be twice as long as that worn by a well-fed Egyptian 
priest. In this mirror I see a man, who is moulded out 


THE SISTERS. 


lOI 


of a sturdy clay, baked out of more unctuous and solid 
stuff than other folks; and if the fine creature there' on 
the bright surface wears a transparent robe, what have 
you to say against it, Cleopatra? The Ptolemaic 
princes must protect the import trade of Alexandria, 
that fact was patent even to the great son of Lagus; 
and what would become of our commerce with Cos if I 
did not purchase the finest bombyx stuffs, since those 
who sell it make no profits out of you, the queen — and 
you cover yourself, like a vestal virgin, in garments of 
tapestry. Give me a wreath for my head — aye and 
another to that, and new wine in the cup! To the 
glory of Rome and to your health, Publius Cornelius 
Scipio, and to our last critical conjecture, my Aristar- 
chus — to subtle thinking and deep drinking!” 

‘‘To deep thinking and subtle drinking!” retorted 
the person thus addressed, while he raised the cup, 
looked into the wine with his twinkling eyes and lifted 
it slowly to his nose — a long, well-formed and slightly 
aquiline nose — and to his thin lips. 

“Oho! Aristarchus,” exclaimed Euergetes, and he 
frowned. “You please me better when you clear up 
the meaning of your poets and historians than when 
you criticise the drinking-maxims of a king. Subtle 
drinking is mere sipping, and sipping I leave to the 
bitterns and other birds that live content among the 
reeds. Do you understand me ? Among reeds, I say — 
whether cut for writing, or no.” 

“By subtle drinking,” replied the great critic with 
perfect indifference, as he pushed the thin, gray hair 
from his high brow with his slender hand. “ By subtle 
drinking I mean the drinking of choice wine, and did 
you ever taste anything more delicate than this juice of 


102 


THE SISTERS. 


the vines of Anthylla that your illustrious brother has 
set before us? Your paradoxical axiom commends 
you at once as a powerful thinker and as the benevo- 
lent giver of the best of drinks.” 

“Happily turned,” exclaimed Cleopatra, clapping 
her hands, “you here see, Publius, a proof of the 
promptness of an Alexandrian tongue.” 

“Yes!” said Euergetes, “if men could go forth to 
battle with words instead of spears the masters of the 
Museum in Alexander’s city, with Aristarchus at their 
head, they ipight rout the united armies of Rome and 
Carthage in a couple of hours.” 

“ But we are not now in the battle-field but at a 
peaceful meal,” said the king, v/ith suave amiability. 
“You did in fact overhear our secret Euergetes, and 
mocked at my faithful Egyptians, in whose place I 
would gladly set fair Greeks if only Alexandria still be- 
longed to me instead of to you. — However, a splendid 
procession shall not be wanting at your birthday fes- 
tival.” 

“And do you really still take pleasure in these 
eternal goose-step performances?” asked Euergetes, 
stretching himself out on his couch, and folding his 
hands to support the back of his head. “ Sooner could 
I accustom myself to the delicate drinking of Aristar- 
chus than sit for hours watching these empty pageants. 
On two conditions only can I declare myself ready and 
willing to remain quiet, and patiently to dawdle 
through almost half a day, like an ape in a cage: First, 
if it will give our Roman friend Publius Cornelius 
Scipio any pleasure to witness such a performance — 
though, since our uncle Antiochus pillaged our wealth, 
and since we brothers shared Egypt between us, oiu* 


THE SISTERS. 


103 


processions are not to be even remotely compared to 
the triumphs of Roman victors — or, secondly, if I am 
allowed to take an active part in the affair.” 

“On my account, Sire,” replied Publius, “no pro- 
cession need be arranged, particularly not such a one 
as I should here be obliged to look on at.” 

“Well! I still enjoy such things,” said Cleopatra’s 
husband. “Well-arranged groups, and the populace 
pleased and excited are a sight 1 am never tired of.” 

“As for me,” cried Cleopatra, “I often turn hot and 
cold, and the tears even spring to my eyes, when the 
shouting is loudest. A great mass of men all uniting 
in a common emotion always has a great effect. A 
drop, a grain of sand, a block of stone ?vre insignificant 
objects, but millions of them together, forming the sea, 
the desert or the pyramids, constitute a sublime whole. 
One man alone, shouting for joy, is like a madman 
escaped from an asylum, but when thousands of men 
rejoice together it must have a powerful effect on the 
coldest heart. How is it that you, Publius Scipio, in 
whom a strong will seems to me to have found a pecul- 
iarly happy development, can remain unmoved by a 
scene in which the great collective will of a people 
finds its utterance ?” 

“Is there then any expression of will, think you,” 
said the Roman, “in this popular rejoicing? It is just 
in such circumstances that each man becomes the invol- 
untary mimic and duplicate of his neighbor; while I 
love to make my own way, and to be independent of 
everything but the laws and duties laid upon me by the 
state to which I belong.” 

“And I,” said Euergetes, “from my childhood have 
always looked on at processions from the very best 


104 


THE SISTERS. 


places, and so it is that fortune punishes me now with 
indifference to them and to everything of the kind; 
while the poor miserable devil who can never catch 
sight of anything more than the nose or the tip of a hair 
or the broad back of those who take part in them, 
always longs for fresh pageants. As you hear, I need 
have no consideration for Publius Scipio in this, willing 
as I should be to do so. Now what would you say, 
Cleopatra, if I myself took a part in my procession — I 
say mine, since it is to be in my honor; that really 
would be for once something new and amusing.’’ 

More new and amusing than creditable, I think,” 
replied Cleopatra dryly. 

‘‘And yet even that ought to please you,” laughed 
Euergetes. “Since, besides being your brother, I am 
your rival, and we would sooner see our rivals lower 
themselves than rise.” 

“ Do not try to justify yourself by such words,” in- 
terrupted the king evasively, and with a tone of regret 
in his soft voice. “We love you truly; we are ready 
to yield you your dominion side by side with ours, and 
I beg you to avoid such speeches even in jest, so that 
bygones may be bygones.” 

“And,” added Cleopatra, “not to detract from your 
dignity as a king and your fame as a sage by any such 
fool’s-pranks.” 

“ Madam teacher, do you know then what I had in 
my mind? I would appear as Alcibiades, followed by 
a train of flute-playing women, with Aristarchus to play 
the part of Socrates. I have often been told that he 
and I resemble each other — in many points, say the 
more sincere; in every point, say the more polite of my 
friends.” 


THE SISTERS. 


lOS 

At these words Publius measured with his eye the 
frame of the royal young libertine, enveloped in trans- 
parent robes; and recalling to himself, as he gazed, a 
glorious statue of that favorite of the Athenians, which 
he had seen in the Ilissus, an ironical smile passed over 
his lips. It was not unobserved by Euergetes and it 
offended him, for there was nothing he liked better than 
to be compared to the nephew of Pericles; but he sup- 
pressed his annoyance, for Publius Cornelius Scipio was 
the nearest relative of the most influential men of Rome, 
and, though he himself wielded royal power, Rome 
exercised over him the sovereign will of a divinity. 

Cleopatra noticed what was passing in her brother’s 
mind, and in order to interrupt his further speech and 
to divert his mind to fresh thoughts, she said cheer- 
fully : 

“ Let us then give up the procession, and think of 
some other mode of celebrating your birthday. You, 
Lysias, must be experienced in such matters, for Publius 
tells me that you were the leader in all the games of 
Corinth. What can we devise to entertain Euergetes 
and ourselves?” 

The Corinthian looked for a moment into his cup, 
moving it slowly about on the marble slab of the little 
table at his side, between an oyster pasty and a dish of 
fresh asparagus; and then he said, glancing- round to 
win the suffrages of the company: 

^‘At the great procession which took place under 
Ptolemy Philadelphus — Agatharchides gave me the 
description of it, written by the eye-witness Kallixenus, 
to read only yesterday — all kinds of scenes from the 
lives of the gods were represented before the people. 
Suppose we were to remain in this magnificent palace, 


io6 


THE SISTERS. 


and to represent ourselves the beautiful groups which 
the great artists of the past have produced in paintmg 
or sculpture ; but let us choose those only that are least 
known.” 

‘‘Splendid,” cried Cleopatra in great excitement, 
“who can be more like Heracles than my mighty 
brother there — the very son of Alcmene, as Lysippus has 
conceived and represented him ? Let us then represent 
the life of Heracles from grand models, and in every 
case assign to Euergetes the part of the hero.” 

“Oh! I will undertake it,” said the young king, feel- 
ing the mighty muscles of his breast and arms, “and 
you may give me great credit for assuming the part, for 
the demi-god who strangled the snakes was lacking in 
the most important point, and it was not without due 
consideration that Lysippus represented him with a 
small head on his mighty body; but I shall not have to 
say anything.” 

“ If I play Omphale will you sit at my feet ? ” asked 
Cleopatra. 

“ Who would not be willing to sit at those feet ? ” 
answered Euergetes. “Let us at once make further 
choice among the abundance of subjects offered to us; 
but, like Lysias, I would warn you against those that 
are too well-known.” 

“^here are no doubt things commonplace to the 
eye as well as to the ear,” said Cleopatra. “ But what 
is recognized as good is commonly regarded as most 
beautiful.” 

“Permit me,” said Lysias, “to direct your attention 
to a piece of sculpture in marble of the noblest work- 
manship, which is both old and beautiful, and yet which 
may be known to few among you. It exists on the 


THE SISTERS. 


107 

cistern of my father’s house at Corinth, and was ex- 
ecuted many centuries since by a great artist of the Pel- 
oponnesus. Publius was delighted with the work, and 
it is in fact beautiful beyond description. It is an ex- 
quisite representation of the marriage of Heracles and 
Hebe — of the hero, raised to divinity, with sempiternal 
youth. Will Your Majesty allow yourself to be led by 
Pallas Athene and your mother Alcmene to your nup- 
tials with Hebe?” 

“Why not?” said Euergetes. “Only the Hebe 
must be beautiful. But one thing must be considered; 
how are we to get the cistern from your father’s house 
at Corinth to this place by to-morrow or next day ? 
Such a group cannot be posed from memory without 
the original to guide us; and though the story runs that 
the statue of Serapis flew from Sinope to Alexandria^ 
and though there are magicians still at Memphis — ” 

“We shall not need them,” interrupted Publius^ 
“ while I was staying as a guest in the house of my 
friend’s parents — which is altogether more magnificent 
than the old castle of King Gyges at Sardis— I had 
some gems engraved after this lovely group, as a wed- 
ding-present for my sister. They are extremely suc- 
cessful, and I have them with me in my tent.” 

“Have you a sister?” asked the queen, leaning over 
towards the Roman. “You must tell me all about 
her.” 

“ She is a girl like all other girls,” replied Publius, 
looking down at the ground, for it was most repugnant 
to his feelings to speak of his sister in the presence of 
Euergetes. 

“And you are unjust like all other brothers,” said 
Cleopatra smiling, “and I must hear more about her,, 


io8 


THE SISTERS. 


for” — and she whispered the words and looked mean- 
ingly at Publius — ‘‘all that concerns you must interest 
me.” 

During this dialogue the royal brothers had ad- 
dressed themselves to Lysias with questions as to the 
marriage of Heracles and Hebe, and all the company 
were attentive to the Greek as he went on: “This fine 
work does not represent the marriage properly speak- 
ing, but the moment when the bridegroom is led to the 
bride. The hero, with his club on his shoulder, and 
wearing the lion’s skin, is led by Pallas Athene, who, 
in performing this office of peace, has dropped her spear 
and carries her helmet in her hand; they are accom- 
panied by his mother Alcmene, and are advancing 
towards the bride’s train. This is headed by no less a 
personage than Apollo himself, singing the praises of 
Hymenaeus to a lute. With him walks his sister Arte- 
mis and behind them the mother of Hebe, accompanied 
by Hermes, the messenger of the gods, as the envoy of 
Zeus. Then follows the principal group, which is one 
of the most lovely works of Greek art that I am ac- 
quainted with. Hebe comes forward to meet her bride- 
groom, gently led on by Aphrodite, the queen of love. 
Peitho, the goddess of persuasion, lays her hand on 
the Ride’s arm, imperceptibly urging her forward and 
turning away her face; for what she had to say has 
been said, and she smiles to herself, for Hebe has not 
turned a deaf ear to her voice, and he who has once 
listened to Peitho must do what she desires.” 

“And Hebe?” asked Cleopatra. 

She casts down her eyes, but lifts up the arm on 
which the hand of Peitho rests with a warning move- 
ment of her fingers, in which she holds an unopened 


THE SISTERS. 


109 

rose, as though she would say; ‘^Ah! let me be — I 
tremble at the man” — or ask: ‘‘Would it not be better 
that I should remain as I am and not yield to your 
temptations and to Aphrodite’s power?” “Oh! Hebe 
is exquisite, and you, O Queen! must represent her!” 

“I!” exclaimed Cleopatra. “But you said her eyes 
were cast down.” 

“That is from modesty and timidity, and her gait 
must also be bashful and maidenly. Her long robe 
falls to her feet in simple folds, while Peitho holds hers 
up saucily, between her forefinger and thumb, as if 
stealthily dancing with triumph over her recent victory. 
Indeed the figure of Peitho would become you admi- 
rably.” 

“ I think I will represent Peitho,” said the queen 
interrupting the Corinthian. “ Hebe is but a bud, an 
unopened blossom, while I am a mother, and I flatter 
myself I am something of a philosopher — ” 

“And can with justice assure yourself,” interrupted 
Aristarchus, “that with every charm of youth you also 
possess the characters attributed to Peitho, the goddess, 
who can work her spells not only on the heart but on 
the intellect also. The maiden bud is as sweet to look 
upon as the rose, but he who loves not merely color 
but perfume too- — I mean refreshment, emotion and 
edification of spirit — must turn to the full-blown flower; 
as the rose-growers of lake Moeris twine only the buds of 
their favorite flower into wreaths and bunches, but can- 
not use them for extracting the oil of imperishable fra- 
grance; for that they need the expanded blossom. Rep- 
resent Peitho, my Queen! the goddess herself might 
be proud of such a representative.” 

“And if she were so indeed,” cried Cleopatra, “how 


I lO 


THE SISTERS. 


happy am I to hear such words from the lips of Aris- 
tarchus. It is settled — I play Peitho. My companion 
Zoe may take the part of Artemis, and her grave sister 
that of Pallas Athene. For the mother’s part we have 
several matrons to choose from; the eldest daughter of 
Epitropes appears to me fitted for the part of Aphro- 
dite; she is wonderfully lovely.” 

‘Ms she stupid too?” asked Euergetes. “That is 
also an attribute of the ever-smiling Cypria.” 

“Enough so, I think, for our purpose,” laughed 
Cleopatra. “ But where are we to find such a Hebe as 
you have described, Lysias ? The daughter of Ahmes 
the Arabarch is a charming child.” 

“But she is brown, as brown as this excellent wine, 
and too thoroughly Egyptian,” said the high-steward, 
who superintended the young Macedonian cup-bearers; 
he bowed deeply as he spoke, and modestly drew the 
queen’s attention to his own daughter, a maiden of six- 
teen. But Cleopatra objected, that she was much taller 
than herself, and that she would have to stand by the 
Hebe, and lay her hand on her arm. 

Other maidens were rejected on various grounds, 
and Euergetes had already proposed to send off a car- 
rier-pigeon to Alexandria to command that some fair 
Greek-girl should be sent by an express quadriga to 
Memphis — where the dark Egyptian gods and men 
flourish, and are more numerous than the fair race of 
Greeks — when Lysias exclaimed: 

“I saw to-day the very girl we want, a Hebe that 
might have stepped out from the marble group at my 
father’s, and have been endued with life and warmth and 
color by some god. Young, modest, rose and white, 
and just about as tall as Your Majesty. If you will 


THE SISTERS. 


Ill 


allow me, I will not tell you who she is, till after I have 
been to our tent to fetch the gems with the copies of 
the marble.’’ 

‘^You will find them in an ivory casket at the bot- 
tom of my clothes-chest,” said Publius; ‘‘here is the 
key.” 

“Make haste,” cried the queen, “for we are all curi- 
ous to hear where in Memphis you discovered your 
modest, rose and white Hebe.” 


CHAPTER X. 

An hour had slipped by with the royal party, since 
Lysias had quitted the company; the wine-cups had 
been filled and emptied many times; Eulaeus had re- 
joined the feasters, and the conversation had taken quite 
another turn, since the whole of the company were not 
now equally interested in the same subject; on the con- 
trary, the two kings were discussing with Aristarchus 
the manuscripts of former poets and of the works of the 
sages, scattered throughout Greece, and the ways and 
means of obtaining them or of acquiring exact tran- 
scripts of them for the library of the Museum. Hierax 
was telling Eulaeus of the last Dionysiac festival, and of 
the representation of the newest comedy in Alexandria, 
and Eulaeus assumed the appearance — not unsuccess- 
fully — of listening with both ears, interrupting him sev- 
eral times with intelligent questions, bearing directly on 
what he had said, while in fact his attention was exclu- 
sively directed to the queen, who had taken entire pos- 
session of the Roman Publius, telling him in a low tone 


II2 


THE SISTERS. 


of her life — which was consuming her strength — of her 
unsatisfied affections, and her enthusiasm for Rome and 
for manly vigor. As she spoke her cheeks glowed and 
her eyes sparkled, for the more exclusively she kept the 
conversation in her own hands the better she thought 
she was being entertained; and Publius, who was noth- 
ing less than talkative, seldom interrupted her, only in- 
sinuating a flattering word now and then when it seemed 
appropriate; for he remembered the advice given him 
by the anchorite, and was desirous of winning the good 
graces of Cleopatra. 

In spite of his sharp ears Eulseus could understand 
but little of their whispered discourse, for King Euer- 
getes’ powerful voice sounded loud above the rest of 
the conversation ; but Eulseus was able swiftly to supply 
the links between the disjointed sentences, and to grasp 
the general sense, at any rate, of what she was saying. 
The queen avoided wine, but she had the power of in- 
toxicating herself, so to speak, with her own words, and 
now — just as her brothers and Aristarchus were at the 
height of their excited and eager question and answer — 
she raised her cup, touched it with her lips and handed 
it to Publius, while at the same time she took hold of 
his. 

TJie young Roman knew well enough all the sig- 
nificance of this hasty action; it was thus that in his 
own country a woman when in love was wont to ex- 
change her cup v/ith her lover, or an apple already 
bitten by her white teeth. 

Publius was seized with a cold shudder — like a wan- 
derer who carelessly pursues his way gazing up at the 
moon and stars, and suddenly perceives an abyss yawn- 
ing at his feet. Recollections of his mother and of her 


THE SISTERS. 


II3 

warnings against the seductive wiles of the Egyptian 
women, and particularly of this very woman, flashed 
through his mind like lightning; she wa^ looking at 
him — not royally by any means, but with anxious and 
languishing gaze, and he would gladly have kept his 
eyes fixed on the ground, and have left the cup un- 
touched; but her eye held his fast as though fettering 
it with ties and bonds; and to put aside the cup seemed 
to the most fearless son of an unconquered nation a 
deed too bold to be attempted. Besides, how could 
he possibly repay this highest favor with an affront 
that no woman could ever forgive — least of all a Cleo- 
patra ? 

Aye, many a life’s happiness is tossed away and 
many a sin committed, because the favor of women 
is a grace that does honor to every man, and that flat- 
ters him even when it is bestowed by the unloved and 
unworthy. For flattery is a key to the heart, and when 
the heart stands half open the voice of the tempter is 
never wanting to whisper: ‘‘You will hurt her feelings 
if you refuse.” 

These were the deliberations which passed rapidly 
and confusedly through the young Roman’s agitated 
brain, as he took the queen’s cup and set his lips to the 
same spot that hers had touched. Then, while he 
emptied the cup in long draughts, he felt suddenly 
seized by a deep aversion to the over-talkative, over- 
dressed and capricious woman before him, who thus 
forced upon him favors for which he had not sued; and 
suddenly there rose before his soul the image, almost 
tangibly distinct, of the humble water-bearer; he saw 
Klea standing before him and looking far more queenly 
as, proud and repellent, she avoided his gaze, than the 


THE SISTERS. 


II4 

sovereign by his side could ever have done, though 
crowned with a diadem. 

Cleopatra rejoiced to mark his long slow draught, 
for she thought the Roman meant to imply by it that 
he could not cease to esteem himself happy in the favor 
she had shown him. She did not take her eyes off him, 
and observed with pleasure that his color changed to 
red and white; nor did she notice that Eulaeus was 
watching, with a twinkle in his eyes, all that was going 
on between her and Publius. At last the Roman set 
down the cup, and tried with some confusion to reply 
to her question as to how he had liked the flavor of the 
wine. 

‘‘Very fine — excellent — ” at last he stammered out, 
but he was no longer looking at Cleopatra but at Eu- 
ergetes, who just then cried out loudly: 

“ I have thought over that passage for hours, I have 
given you all my reasons and have let you speak, Aris- 
tarchus, but I maintain my opinion, and whoever 
denies it does Homer an injustice; in this place siu 
must be read instead of 

Euergetes spoke so vehemently that his voice out- 
shouted all the other guests; Publius however snatched 
at his words, to escape the necessity for feigning senti- 
mentsjje could not feel; so he said, addressing himself 
half to the speaker and half to Cleopatra: 

“ Of what use can it be to decide whether it is one 
or the other-^f// or siu. I find many things justifiable 
in other men that are foreign to my own nature, but I 
never could understand how an energetic and vigorous 
man, a prudent sovereign and stalwart drinker — like 
you, Euergetes — can sit for hours over flimsy papyrus- 
rolls, and rack his brains to decide whether this 


THE SISTERS. 


IIS 


or that in Homer should be read in one way or 
another.’^ 

"You exercise yourself in other things,” replied 
Euergetes. "I consider that part of me which lies 
within this golden fillet as the best that I have, and I 
exercise my wits on the minutest and subtlest questions 
just as I would try the strength of my arms against the 
sturdiest athletes. I flung five into the sand the last 
time I did so, and they quake now when they see me 
enter the gymnasium of Timagetes. There would be 
no strength in the world if there were no obstacles, and 
no man would know that he was strong if he could 
meet with no resistance to overcome. I for my part 
seek such exercises as suit my idiosyncrasy, and if they 
are not to your taste I cannot help it. If you were to 
set these excellently dressed crayfish before a fine horse 
he would disdain them, and could not understand how 
foolish men could find anything palatable that tasted 
so salt. Salt, in fact, is not suited to all creatures! 
Men born far from the sea do not relish oysters, while 
I, being a gourmand, even prefer to open them myself 
so that they may be perfectly fresh, and mix their liquor 
with my wine.” 

" I do not like any very salt dish, and am glad to 
leave the opening of all marine produce to my ser- 
vants,” answered Publius. " Thereby I save both time 
and unnecessary trouble.” 

"Oh! I know!” cried Euergetes. "You keep Greek 
slaves, who must even read and write for you. Pray 
is there a market where I may purchase men, who, after 
a night of carousing, will bear our headache for us? 
By the shores of the Tiber you love many things better 
than learning.” 


ii6 


THE SISTERS. 


‘‘And thereby,” added Aristarchus, “deprive your- 
selves of the noblest and subtlest of pleasures, for the. 
purest enjoyment is ever that which we earn at the cost 
of some pains and effort.” 

“But all that you earn by this kind of labor,” re- 
turned Publius, “is petty and unimportant It puts me 
in mind of a man who removes a block of stone in the 
sweat of his brow only to lay it on a sparrow’s feather 
in order that it may not be carried away by the wind.” 

“And what is great — and what is small?” asked 
Aristarchus. “Very opposite opinions on that subject 
may be equally true, since it depends solely on us and 
our feelings how things appear to us — whether cold or 
warm, lovely or repulsive — and when Protagoras says 
that ‘man is the measure of all things,’ that is the most 
acceptable of all the maxims of the Sophists ; moreover 
the smallest matter — as you will fully appreciate — ac- 
quires an importance all the greater in proportion as the 
thing is perfect, of which it forms a part. If you slit 
the ear of a cart-horse, what does it signify ? but sup- 
pose the same thing were to happen to a thoroughbred 
horse, a charger that you ride on to battle! 

“A wrinkle or a tooth more or less in the face of a 
peasant woman matters little, or not at all, but it is 
quite'different in a celebrated beauty. If you scrawl 
all over the face with which the coarse finger of the 
potter has decorated a water-jar, the injury to the 
wretched pot is but small, but if you scratch, only with 
a needle’s point, that gem with the portraits of Ptolemy 
and Arsinoe, which clasps Cleopatra’s robe round her 
fair throat, the richest queen will grieve as though she 
had suffered some serious loss. 

“Now, what is there more perfect or more worthy 


THE SISTERS. 


II7 

to be treasured than the noblest works of great thinkers 
and great poets. 

‘‘To preserve them from injury, to purge them from 
the errors which, in the course of time, may have 
spotted their immaculate purity, this is our task; and if 
we do indeed raise blocks of stone it is not to weight a 
sparrow’s feather that it may not be blown away, but 
to seal the door which guards a precious possession, 
and to preserve a gem from injury. 

“The chatter of girls at a fountain is worth nothing 
but to be wafted away on the winds, and to be remem- 
bered by none; but can a son ever deem that one sin- 
gle word is unimportant which his dying father has 
bequeathed to him as a clue to his path in life? If you 
yourself were such a son, and your ear had not per- 
fectly caught the parting counsels of the dying — how 
many talents of silver would you not pay to be able to 
supply the missing words? And what are immortal 
works of the great poets and thinkers but such sacred 
words of warning addressed, not to a single individual, 
but to all that are not barbarians, however many they 
may be. They will elevate, instruct, and delight our de- 
scendants a thousand years hence as they do us at this 
day, and they, if they are not degenerate and ungrate- 
ful will be thankful to those who have devoted the best 
powers of their life to completing and restoring all that 
our mighty forefathers have said, as it must have origi- 
nally stood before it was mutilated, and spoiled by care- 
lessness and folly. 

“He who, like King Euergetes, puts one syllable in 
Homer right, in place of a wrong one, in my opinion 
has done a service to succeeding generations — aye and 
a great service.” 


THE SISTERS. 


1 18 


‘‘ What you say,’^ replied Publius, sounds convinc- 
ing, but it is still not perfectly clear to me; no doubt 
because I learned at an early age to prefer deeds to 
words. I find it more easy to reconcile my mind to 
your painful and minute labors when I reflect that to 
you is entrusted the restoration of the literal tenor of 
laws, whose full meaning might be lost by a verbal 
error; or that wrong information might be laid before 
me as to one single transaction in the life of a friend or 
of a blood-relation, and it might lie with me to clear 
him of mistakes and misinterpretation.” 

‘‘And what are the works of the great singers of the 
deeds of the heroes — of the writers of past history, but 
the lives of our fathers related either with veracious 
exactness or with poetic adornments?” cried Aristar- 
chus. “ It is to these that my king and companion in 
study devotes himself with particular zeal.” 

“When he is neither drinking, nor raving, nor gov- 
erning, nor wasting his time in sacrificing and proces- 
sions,” interpolated Euergetes. “ If I had not been a 
king perhaps I might have been an Aristarchus; as it 
is I am but half a king — since half of my kingdom be- 
longs to you, Philometor — and but half a student; for 
when am I to find perfect quiet for thinking and writ- 
ing? "-Everything, everything in me is by halves, for I, 
if the scale were to turn in my favor” — and here he 
struck his chest and his forehead, “ I should be twice 
the man I am. I am my whole real self nowhere but 
at high festivals, when the wine sparkles in the cup, and 
bright eyes flash from beneath the brows of the flute- 
players of Alexandria or Cyrene — sometimes too per- 
haps in council when the risk is great, or when there is 
something vast and portentous to be done from which 


THE SISTERS. 


II9 

my brother and you others, all of you, would shrink — 
nay perhaps even the Roman. Aye ! so it is — and you 
will learn to know it.” 

Euergetes had roared rather than spoken the last 
words; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes rolled, while 
he took from his head both the garland of flowers and 
the golden fillet, and once more pushed his fingers 
through his hair. 

His sister covered her ears with her hands, and said: 
‘‘You positively hurt me! As no one is contradicting 
you, and you, as a man of culture, are not accustomed 
to add force to your assertions, like the Scythians, by 
speaking in a loud tone, you would do well to save 
your metallic voice for the further speech with which 
it is to be hoped you will presently favor us. We have 
had to bow more than once already to the strength of 
which you boast — but now, at a merry feast, we will 
not think of that, but rather continue the conversation' 
which entertained us, and which had begun so welL 
This eager defence of the interests which most delight 
the best of the Hellenes in Alexandria may perhaps; 
result in infusing into the mind of our friend Publius 
Scipio — and through him into that of many young 
Romans — a proper esteem for a line of intellectual 
effort which he could not have condemned had he not 
failed to understand it perfectly. 

“Very often some striking poetical turn given to a 
subject makes it, all at once, clear to our comprehension, 
even when long and learned disquisitions have failed; 
and I am acquainted with such an one, written by an 
anonymous author, and which may please you — and 
you too, Aristarchus. It epitomizes very happily the 
subject of our discussion. The lines run as follows: 


120 


THE SISTERS. 


“ Behold, the puny Child of Man 
Sits by Time’s boundless sea. 
And gathers in his feeble hand 
Drops of Eternity. 


He overhears some broken words 
Of whispered mystery — 

He writes them in a tiny book 
And calls it ‘ History ! ’ 


‘‘We owe these verses to an accomplished friend; 
another has amplified the idea by adding the two that 
follow: 


“If indeed the puny Child of Man 

Had not gathered drops from that wide sea, 
Those small deeds that fill his little span 
Had been lost in dumb Eternity. 


“ Feeble is his hand, and yet it dare 

Seize some drops of that perennial stream; 
As they fall they catch a transient gleam — 
Do ! Eternity is mirrored there ! 


“ What are we all but puny children ? And those 
of us who gather up the drops surely deserve our es- 
teem no less than those who spend their lives on the 
shore of that great ocean in mere play and strife — ” 
“And love/’ threw in Euljeus in a low voice, as he 
glanced towards Publius. 

“Your poet’s verses are pretty and appropriate,” 
Aristarchus now said, “and I am very happy to find 
myself compared to the children who catch the falling 
drops. There was a time — which came to an end, alas! 
with the great Aristotle — when there were men among 
the Greeks, who fed the ocean of which you speak with 
new tributaries; for the gods had bestowed on them 
the power of opening new sources, like the magician 


THE SISTERS. 


I2I 


Moses, of whom Onias, the Jew, was lately telling us, 
and whose history I have read in the sacred books of 
the Hebrews. He, it is true — Moses I mean — only 
struck water from the rock for the use of the body, 
while to our philosophers and poets we owe inexhaust- 
ible springs to refresh the mind and soul. The time 
is now past which gave birth to such divine and crea- 
tive spirits; as your majesties’ forefathers recognized full 
well when they founded the Museum of Alexandria and 
the Library, of which I am one of the guardians, and 
Avhich I may boast of having completed with your gra- 
cious assistance. When Ptolemy Soter first created 
the Museum in Alexandra the works of the greatest 
period could receive no additions in the form of modern 
writings of the highest class; but he set us — children 
of man, gathering the drops — the task of collecting and 
of sifting them, of eliminating errors in them — and I 
think we have proved ourselves equal to this task. 

‘Ht has been said that it is no less difficult to keep 
a fortune than to deserve it; and so perhaps we, who are 
merely ^keepers’ may nevertheless make some credit — 
all the more because we have been able to arrange the 
wealth we found under hand, to work it profitably, to 
apply it well, to elucidate it, and to make it available. 
When anything new is created by one of our circle we 
always link it on to the old; and in many departments 
we have indeed even succeeded in soaring above the 
ancients, particularly in that of the experimental sci- 
ences. The sublime intelligence of our forefathers com- 
manded a broad horizon — our narrower vision sees 
more clearly the objects that lie close to us. We have 
discovered the sure path for all intellectual labor, the true 
scientific method; and an observant study of things as 


122 


THE SISTERS. 


they are, succeeds better with us than it did with our 
predecessors. Hence it follows that in the provinces 
of the natural sciences, in mathematics, astronomy, me- 
chanics and geography the sages of our college have 
produced works of unsurpassed merit. Indeed the in- 
dustry of my associates — ” 

‘Hs very great,” cried Euergetes. ‘‘But they stir 
up such a dust that all free-thought is choked, and be- 
cause they value quantity above all things in the results 
they obtain, they neglect to sift what is great from what 
is small; and so Publius Scipio and others like him, who 
shrug their shoulders over the labors of the learned, 
find cause enough to laugh* in their faces. Out of 
every four of you I should dearly like to set three to 
some handicraft, and I shall do it too, one of these 
days — I shall do it, and turn them and ail their misera- 
ble paraphernalia out of the Museum, and out of my 
capital. They may take refuge with you, Philometor, 
you who marvel at everything you cannot do yourself, 
who are always delighted to possess what I reject, and 
to make much of those whom I condemn — and Cleo- 
patra I dare say will play the harp, in honor of their 
entering Memphis.” 

“I dare say!” answered the queen, laughing bitterly. 
“ Still, it is to be expected that your wrath may fall even 
on worthy men. Until then I will practise my music, 
and study the treatise on harmony that you have begun 
writing. You are giving us proof to-day of how far you 
have succeeded in attaining unison in your own soul.” 

“I like you in this mood!” cried Euergetes. “I 
love you, sister, when you are like this! It ill becomes 
the eagle’s brood to coo like the dove, and you have 
sharp talons though you hide them never so well under 


THE SISTERS. 


123 


your soft feathers. It is true that I am writing a trea- 
tise on harmony, and I am doing it with delight; still it 
is one of those phenomena which, though accessible 
to our perception, are imperishable, for no god even 
could discover it entire and unmixed in the world of 
realities. Where is harmony to be found in the strug- 
gles and rapacious strife of the life of the Cosmos? 
And our human existence is but the diminished reflec- 
tion of that process of birth and decease, of evolution 
and annihilation, which is going on in all that is per- 
ceptible to our senses; now gradually and invisibly, 
now violently and convulsively, but never harmoni- 
ously. 

Harmony is at home only in the ideal world — 
harmony which is unknown even among the gods — 
harmony, whom I may know, and yet may never com- 
prehend — whom I love, and may never possess— whom 
I long for, and who flies from me. 

“I am as one that thirsteth, and harmony as the 
remote, unattainable well — I am as one swimming in a 
wide sea, and she is the land which recedes as I deem 
myself near to it. 

‘‘Who will tell me the name of the country where 
she rules as queen, undisturbed and untroubled? And 
which is most in earnest in his pursuit of the fair one: 
He who lies sleeping in her arms, or he who is con- 
sumed by his passion for her ? 

“ I am seeking what you deem that you possess. — 
Possess ! — 

“ Look round you on the world and on life — look 
round, as I do, on this hall of which you are so proud! 
It was built by a Greek; but, because the simple 
melody of beautiful forms in perfect concord no longer 


124 


THE SISTERS. 


satisfies you, and your taste requires the eastern mag- 
nificence in which you were born, because this flatters 
your vanity and reminds you, each time you gaze upon 
it, that you are w^ealthy and powerful — you commanded 
your architect to set aside simple grandeur, and to 
build this gaudy monstrosity, which is no more like the 
banqueting-hall of a Pericles than I or you, Cleopatra, 
in all our finery, are like the simply clad gods and god- 
desses of Phidias. I mean not to offend you, Cleopatra, 
but I must say this; I am writing now on the subject 
of harmony, and perhaps I shall afterwards treat of 
justice, truth, virtue; although I know full well that 
they are pure abstractions which occur neither in nature 
nor in human life, and which in my dealings I wholly 
set aside; nevertheless they seem to me worthy of in- 
vestigation, like any other delusion, if by resolving it 
we may arrive at conditional truth. It is because one 
man is afraid of another that these restraints — justice, 
truth, and what else you will — have received these high- 
sounding names, have been stamped as characteristics 
of the gods, and placed under the protection of the 
immortals; nay, our anxious care has gone so far that 
it has been taught as a doctrine that it is beautiful and 
good* to cloud our free enjoyment of existence for the 
sake of^ these illusions. Think of Antisthenes and his 
disciples, the dog-like Cynics — think of the fools shut 
up in the temple of Serapis! Nothing is beautiful but 
what is free, and he only is not free who is forever striv- 
ing to check his inclinations — for the most part in vain 
— in order to live, as feeble cowards deem virtuously, 
justly and truthfully. 

One animal eats another when he has succeeded 
in capturing it, either in open fight or by cunning and 


THE SISTERS. 


125 


treachery; the climbing plant strangles the tree, the 
desert-sand chokes the meadows, stars fall from heaven, 
and earthquakes swallow up cities. You believe in the 
gods — and so do I after my own fashion — and if they 
have so ordered the course of this life in every class of 
existence that the strong triumph over the weak, why 
should not I use my strength, why let it be fettered by 
those much-belauded soporifics which our prudent an- 
cestors concocted to cool the hot blood of such men as 
I, and to paralyze our sinewy fists. 

‘^Euergetes — the well-doer — I was named at my 
birth; but if men choose to call me Kakergetes — the 
evil-doer — I do not mind it, since what you call good 
I call narrow and petty, and what you call evil is the 
free and unbridled exercise of power. I w^ould be any- 
thing rather than lazy and idle, for everything in nature 
is active and busy; and as, with Aristippus, I hold 
pleasure to be the highest good, I would fain earn the 
name of having enjoyed more than all other men; in 
the first place in my mind, but no less in my body 
which I admire and cherish.” 

During this speech many signs of disagreement had 
found expression, and Publius, who for the first time in 
his life heard such vicious sentiments spoken, followed 
the words of the headstrong youth with consternation 
and surprise. He felt himself no match for this over- 
bearing spirit, trained too in all the arts of argument 
and eloquence; but he could not leave all he had heard 
uncontroverted, and so, as Euergetes paused in order 
to empty his refilled cup, he began : 

“If we were all to act on your principles, in a few 
centuries, it seems to me, there would be no one left to 
subscribe to them ; for the earth would be depopulated ; 


126 


THE SISTERS. 


and the manuscripts, in which you are so careful to sub- 
stitute sill for iu^ would be used by strong-handed 
mothers, if any were left, to boil the pot for their chil- 
dren — in this country of yours where there is no wood 
to burn. Just now you were boasting of your resem- 
blance to Alcibiades, but that very gift which distin- 
guished him, and made him dear to the Athenians — I 
mean his beauty — is hardly possible in connection with 
your doctrines, which would turn men into ravening 
beasts. He who would be beautiful must before all 
things be able to control himself and to be moderate — 
as I learnt in Rome before I ever saw Athens, and have 
remembered well. A Titan may perhaps have thought 
and talked as you do, but an Alcibiades — hardly!’^ 

At these words the blood flew to Euergetes’ face; 
but he suppressed the keen and insulting reply that rose 
to his lips, and this little victory over his wrathful im- 
pulse was made the more easy as Lysias, at this moment, 
rejoined the feasters; he excused himself for his long 
absence, and then laid before Cleopatra and her hus- 
band the gems belonging to Publius. 

They were warmly admired; even Euergetes was 
not grudging of his praise, and each of the company 
admitted that he had rarely seen anything more beautiful 
and graceful than the bashful Hebe with downcast 
eyes,^nd the goddess of persuasion with her hand 
resting on the bride’s arm. 

^‘Yes, I will take the part of Peitho,” said Cleo- 
patra with decision. 

‘^And I that of Heracles,” cried Euergetes. 

‘^But who is the fair one,” asked King Philometof 
of Lysias, ^‘whom you have in your eye, as fulfilling 
this incomparably lovely conception of Hebe? While 


THE SISTERS. 


127 


you were away I recalled to memory the aspect of 
every woman and girl who frequents our festivals, but 
orily to reject them all, one after the other.” 

‘‘The fair girl whom I mean,” replied Lysias, “has 
never entered this or any other palace; indeed I am 
almost afraid of being too bold in suggesting to our 
illustrious queen so humble a child as fit to stand beside 
her, though only in sport.” 

“I shall even have to touch her arm with my 
hand!” said the queen anxiously, and she drew up her 
fingers as if she had to touch some unclean thing. 
“ If you mean a flower-seller or a flute-player or some- 
thing of that kind — ” 

“ How could I dare to suggest anything so im- 
proper ?” Lysias hastily interposed. “ The girl of whom 
I speak may be sixteen years old; she is innocence 
itself incarnate, and she looks like a bud ready to open 
perhaps in the morning dew that may succeed this very 
night, but which as yet is still enfolded in its cup. She 
is of Greek race, about as tall as you are, Cleopatra; 
she has wonderful gazelle-like eyes, her little head is 
covered by a mass of abundant brown hair, when she 
smiles she has delicious dimples in her cheeks — and she 
will be sure to smile when such a Peitho speaks to her!” 

“You are rousing our curiosity,” cried Philometor. 
“ In what garden, pray, does this blossom grow?” 

“ And how is it,” added Cleopatra, “ that my hus- 
band has not discovered it long since, and transplanted 
it to our palace.” 

“ Probably,” answered Lysias, “ because he who pos- 
sesses Cleopatra, the fairest rose of Egypt, regards the 
violets by the roadside as too insignificant to be worth 
glancing at. Besides, the hedge that fences round my 


128 


THE SISTERS. 


bud grows in a gloomy spot; it is difficult of access and 
suspiciously watched. To be brief: our Hebe is a 
water-bearer in the temple of Serapis, and her name 
is Irene.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

Lysias was one of those men from whose lips noth- 
ing ever sounds as if it were meant seriously. His 
statement that he regarded a serving girl from the tem- 
ple of Serapis as fit to personate Hebe, was spoken as 
naturally and simply as if he were telling a tale for 
children ; but his words produced an effect on his hearers 
like the sound of waters rushing into a leaky ship. 

Publius had turned perfectly white, and it was not 
till his friend had uttered the name of Irene that he in 
some degree recovered his composure; Philometor had 
struck his cup on the table, and called out in much ex- 
citement: 

A water-bearer of Serapis to play Hebe in a gay 
festal performance! Do you conceive it possible, Cleo- 
patra?” 

“ Impossible — it is absolutely out of the question,” 
replied the queen, decidedly. Euergetes, who also had 
opened his eyes wide at the Corinthian’s proposition, 
sat for a long time gazing into his cup in silence; while 
his brother and sister continued to express their surprise 
and disapprobation and to speak of the respect and con- 
sideration which even kings must pay to the priests and 
servants of Serapis. 

At length, once more lifting his wreath and crown. 


THE SISTERS. 


129 


he raised his curls with both hands, and said, quite 
calmly and decisively; 

^‘We must have a Hebe, and must take her where 
we find her. If you hesitate to allow the girl to be 
fetched it shall be done by my orders. The priests of 
Serapis are for the most part Greeks, and the high-priest 
is a Hellene. He will not trouble himself much about 
a half-grown-up girl if he can thereby oblige you or me. 
He knows as well as the rest of us that ^one hand 
washes the other’! The only question now is — for I 
would rather avoid all woman’s outcries — whether the 
girl will come willingly or unwillingly if we send for her. 
What do you think, Lysias ?” 

‘‘ I believe she would sooner get out of prison to-day 
than to-morrow,” replied Lysias. ‘Hrene is a light- 
hearted creature, and laughs as clearly and merrily as a 
child at play — and besides that they starve her in her 
cage.” 

Then I will have her fetched to-morrow 1 ” said 
Euergetes. 

’‘‘But,” interrupted Cleopatra, “ Asclepiodorus must 
obey us and not you; and we, my husband and I — ” 

“You cannot spoil sport with the priests,” laughed 
Euergetes. “If they were Egyptians, then indeed! 
They are not to be taken in their nests without getting 
pecked; but here, as I have said, we have to deal with 
Greeks. What have you to fear from them? For 
aught I care you may leave our Hebe where she is, but 
I was once much pleased with these representations, 
and to-morrow morning, as soon as I have slept, I shall 
return to Alexandria, if you do not carry them into 
effect, and so deprive me, Heracles, of the bride chosen 
for me by the gods. I have said what I have said, and 


9 


THE SISTERS. 


130 

I am not given to changing my mind. Besides, it is 
time that we should show ourselves to our friends feast- 
ing here in the next room. They are already merry, 
and it must be getting late.” 

With these words Euergetes rose from his couch, 
and beckoned to Hierax and a chamberlain, who ar- 
ranged the folds of his transparent robe, while Philo- 
metor and Cleopatra whispered together, shrugging 
their shoulders and shaking their heads; and Publius, 
pressing his hand on the Corinthian’s wrist, said in his 
ear: “You will not give them any help if you value 
our friendship; we will leave as soon as we can do so 
with propriety.” 

Euergetes did not like to be kept waiting. He v/as 
already going towards the door, when Cleopatra called 
him back, and said pleasantly, but with gentle reproach- 
fulness: 

“You know that we are willing to follow the 
Egyptian custom of carrying out as far as possible 
the wishes of a friend and brother for his birthday 
festival; but for that very reason it is not right in 
you to try to force us into a proceeding which we 
refuse with difficulty, and yet cannot carry out with- 
out exposing ourselves to the most unpleasant conse- 
quences. We beg you to make some other demand 
on uvand we will certainly grant it if it lies in our 
power.” 

The young colossus responded to his sister’s appeal 
with a loud shout of laughter, waved his arm with a 
flourish of his hand expressive of haughty indifference; 
and then he exclaimed: 

“The only thing I really had a fancy for out of all 
your possessions you are not willing to concede, and 


THE SISTERS. 


131 

SO I must abide by my word. You find me my Hebe 
— or I go on my way.” 

Again Cleopatra and her husband exchanged a few 
muttered words and rapid glances, Euergetes watching 
them the while; his legs straddled apart, his huge body 
bent forward, and his hands resting on his hips. His 
attitude expressed so much arrogance and puerile, de- 
fiant, unruly audacity, that Cleopatra found it difficult 
to suppress an exclamation of disgust before she spoke. 

‘^We are indeed brethren,” she said, ‘^and so, for 
the sake of the peace which has been restored and pre- 
served with so much difficulty, we give in. The best 
way will be to request Asclepiodorus — ” 

But here Euergetes interrupted the queen, clapping 
his hands loudly and laughing: 

‘‘That is right, sister! only find me my Hebe! 
How you do it is your affair, and is all the same to me. 
To-morrow evening we will have a rehearsal, and the 
day after we will give a representation of which our 
grandchildren shall repeat the fame. Nor shall a brill- 
iant audience be lacking, for my complimentary visitors 
with their priestly splendor and array of arms will, it 
IS to be hoped, arrive punctually. Come, my lords, we 
will go, and see what there is good to drink or to listen 
to at the table in the next room.” 

The doors were opened; music, loud talking, the 
jingle of cups, and the noise of laughter sounded 
through them into the room where the princes had 
been supping, and all the king’s guests followed Euer- 
getes, with the exception of Eulaeus. Cleopatra allowed 
them to depart without speaking a word; only to Pub- 
lius she said: “Till we meet again!” but she detained 
the Corinthian, saying: 


9 


132 


THE SISTERS. 


‘‘You, Lysias, are the cause of this provoking busi- 
ness. Try now to repair the mischief by bringing the 
girl to us. Do not hesitate! 1 will guard her, protect . 
her with the greatest care, rely upon me.” 

“She is a modest maiden,” replied Lysias, “and 
will not accompany me willingly, I am sure. When I 
proposed her for the part of Hebe I certainly supposed 
that a word from you, the king and queen, would suf- 
fice to induce the head of the temple to entrust her to 
you for a few hours of harmless amusement. Pardon 
me if I too quit you now; I have the key of my friend’s 
chest still in my possession, and must restore it to 
him.” 

“Shall we have her carried off secretly?” asked 
Cleopatra of her husband, when the Corinthian had 
followed the other guests. 

“Only let us have no scandal, no violence,” cried 
Philometor anxiously. “The best way would be for 
me to write to Asclepiodorus, and beg him in a friendly 
manner to entrust this girl — Ismene or Irene, or what- 
ever the ill-starred child’s name is — for a few days to 
you, Cleopatra, for your pleasure. I can offer him a 
prospect of an addition to the gift of land I made to- 
day, and which fell far short of his demands.” 

“ Let me entreat your majesty,” interposed Eulaeus, 
who now alone with the royal couple, “let me en- 
treat you not to make any great promises on this occa- 
sion, for the moment you do so Asclepiodorus will at- 
tribute an importance to your desire — ” 

“ Which it is far from having, and must not seem to 
have,” interrupted the queen. “It is preposterous to 
waste so many words about a miserable creature, a 
water-carrying girl, and to go through so much disturb- 


THE SISTERS. 


133 


ance — ^but how are we to put an end to it all ? What 
is your advice, Eulaeus.^” 

‘‘ I thank you for that enquiry, noble princess,” re- 
plied Eulaeus. ^‘My lord, the king, in my opinion, 
should have the girl carried off, but not with any vio- 
lence, nor by a man — whom she would hardly follow 
so immediately as is necessary — but by a woman. 

am thinking of the old Egyptian tale of ‘The 
Two Brothers,^ which you are acquainted with. The 
Pharaoh desired to possess himself of the wife of the 
younger one, who lived on the Mount of Cedars, and 
he sent armed men to fetch her away; but only one of 
them came back to him, for Batau had slain all the 
others. Then a woman was sent with splendid orna- 
ments, such as women love, and the fair one followed 
her unresistingly to the palace. 

“We may spare the ambassadors, and send only the 
woman; your lady in waiting, Zoe, will execute this 
commission admirably. Who can blame us in any way 
if a girl, who loves finery, runs away from her keep- 
ers ?” 

“ But all the world will see her as Hebe,” sighed 
Philometor, “and proclaim us — the sovereign protec- 
tors of the worship of Serapis — as violators of the 
temple, if Asclepiodorus leads the cry. No, no, the 
high-priest must first be courteously applied to. In 
the case of his raising any difficulties, but not other- 
wise, shall Zoe make the attempt.” 

“ So be it then,” said the queen, as if it were her 
part to express her confirmation of her husband’s prop- 
osition. 

“Let your lady accompany me,” begged Eulaeus, 
“ and prefer your request to Asclepiodorus. While I 


134 


THE SISTERS. 


am speaking with the high-priest, Zoe can at any rate 
win over the girl, and whatever we do must be done 
to-morrow, or the Roman will be beforehand with us. 
I know that he has cast an eye on Irene, who is in fact 
most lovely. He gives her flowers, feeds his pet bird 
with pheasants and peaches and other sweetmeats, lets 
himself be lured into the Serapeum by his lady-love as 
often as possible, stays there whole hours, and piously 
follows the processions, in order to present the violets 
with which you graciously honored him by giving them 
to his fair one — who no doubt would rather wear royal 
flowers than any others — ” 

‘‘Liar!’^ cried the queen, interrupting the courtier 
in such violent excitement and such ungoverned rage, 
so completely beside herself, that her husband drew 
back startled. 

“You are a slanderer! a base calumniator! The 
Roman attacks you with naked weapons, but you slink 
in the dark, like a scorpion, and try to sting your enemy 
in the heel. Apelles, the painter, warns us — the grand- 
children of Lagus — against folks of your kidney in the 
picture he painted against Antiphilus; as I look at you 
I am reminded of his Demon of Calumny. The same 
spite and malice gleam in your eyes as in hers, and the 
same fury and greed for some victim, fire your flushed 
face! Tiow you would rejoice if the youth whom 
Apelles has represented Calumny as clutching by the 
hair, could but be Publius! and if only the lean and 
hollow-eyed form of Envy, and the loathsome female 
figures of Cunning and Treachery would come to your 
aid as they have to hers! But I remember too the 
steadfast and truthful glance of the boy she has flung 
to the ground, his arms thrown up to heaven, appealing 


THE SISTERS. 


135 


for protection to the goddess and the king — and though 
Publius Scipio is man enough to guard himself against 
open attack, I will protect him against being surprised 
from an ambush! Leave this room! Go, I say, and 
you shall see how we punish slanderers!’* 

At these words Eulaeus flung himself at the queen’s 
feet, but she, breathing hurriedly and with quivering 
nostrils, looked away over his head as if she did not 
even see him, till her husband came towards her, and 
said in a voice of most winning gentleness: 

‘‘ Do not condemn him unheard, and raise him from 
his abasement. At least give him the opportunity of 
softening your indignation by bringing the water-bearer 
here without angering Asclepiodorus. Carry out this 
affair well, Eulaeus, and you will find in me an advo- 
cate with Cleopatra.” 

The king pointed to the door, and Eulaeus retired, 
bowing deeply and finding his way out backwards. 
Philometer, now alone with his wife, said with mild re- 
proach : 

‘^How could you abandon yourself to such unmeas- 
ured anger? So faithful and prudent a servant — and 
one of the few still living of those to whom our mother 
was attached — cannot be sent away like a mere clumsy 
attendant. Besides, what is the great crime he has 
committed? Is it a slander which need rouse you to 
such fury when a cautious old man says in all innocence 
of a young one — a man belonging to a world which 
knows nothing of the mysterious sanctity of Serapis — 
that he has taken a fancy to a girl, who is admired by 
all who see her, that he seeks her out, and gives her 
flowers — ” 

‘‘ Gives her flowers ? ” exclaimed Cleopatra, breaking 


136 


THE SISTERS. 


out afresh. he is accused of persecuting a maid- 

en attached to Serapis — to Serapis I say. But it is 
simply false, and you would be as angry as I am if you 
were ever capable of feeling manly indignation, and if 
you did not want to make use of Eulaeus for many 
things, some of which I know, and others — which you 
choose to conceal from me. Only let him fetch the 
girl; and when once we have her here, and if I find 
that the Roman’s indictment against Eulaeus — which I 
will hear to-morrow morning — is well founded, you shall 
see that I have manly vigor enough for both of us. 
Come away now; they are waiting for us in the other 
room.” 

The queen gave a call, and chamberlains and ser- 
vants hurried in ; her shell-shaped litter was brought, 
and in a few minutes, with her husband by her side, she 
was borne into the great peristyle where the grandees 
of the court, the commanders of the troops, the most 
prominent of the officials of the Egyptian provinces, 
many artists and savants, and the ambassadors from 
foreign powers, were reclining on long rows of couches, 
and talking over their wine, the feast itself being 
ended. 

The Greeks and the dark-hued Egyptians were 
about equally represented in this motley assembly; but 
among-Them, and particularly among the learned and 
the fighting men, there were also several Israelites and 
Syrians. 

The royal pair were received by the company with 
acclamations and marks of respect; Cleopatra smiled 
as sweetly as ever, and waved her fan graciously as she 
descended from her litter; still she vouchsafed not the 
slightest attention to any one present, for she was seek- 


THE SISTERS. 


137 


ing Publius, at first among those who were nearest to 
the couch prepared for her, and then among the other 
Hellenes, the Egyptians, the Jews, the ambassadors — 
still she found him not, and when at last she enquired 
for the Roman of the chief chamberlain at her side, the 
official was sent for who had charge of the foreign 
envoys. This was an officer of very high rank, whose 
duty it was to provide for the representatives of foreign 
powers, and he was now near at hand, for he had long 
been waiting for an opportunity to offer to the queen a 
message of leave-taking from Publius Cornelius Scipio, 
and to tell her from him, that he had retired to his tent 
because a letter had come to him from Rome. 

‘Hs that true?’’ asked the queen letting her feather 
fan droop, and looking her interlocutor severely in the 
face. ♦ 

^^The trireme Proteus^ coming from Brundisium, 
entered the harbor of Eunostus only yesterday,” he 
replied; ‘^and an hour ago a mounted messenger 
brought the letter. Nor was it an ordinary letter but a 
despatch from the Senate — I know the form and seal.” 

^‘And Lysias, the Corinthian?” 

‘‘He accompanied the Roman.” 

“Has the Senate written to him too?” asked the 
queen annoyed, and ironically. She turned her back 
on the officer without any kind of courtesy, and turning 
again to the chamberlain she went on, in incisive tones, 
as if she were presiding at a trial: 

“ King Euergetes sits there among the Egyptians 
near the envoys from the temples of the Upper 
Country. He looks as it he were giving them a dis- 
course, and they hang on his lips. What is he saying, 
and what does all this mean ?” 


THE SISTERS. 


13S 


‘‘ Before you came in, he was sitting with the Syr- 
ians and Jews, and telling them what the merchants 
and scribes, whom he sent to the South, have reported 
of the lands lying near the lakes through which the 
Nile is said to flow. He thinks that new sources of 
wealth have revealed themselves not far from the head 
of the sacred river which can hardly flow in from the 
ocean, as the ancients supposed.” 

“And now?” asked Cleopatra. “ What information 
is he giving to the Egyptians?” 

The chamberlain hastened towards Euergetes' 
couch, and soon returned to the queen — who mean- 
while had exchanged a few friendly words with Onias, 
the Hebrew commander — and informed her in a low 
tone that the king was interpreting a passage from the 
Timaeus of Plato, in which Solon celebrates the lofty 
wisdom of the priests of Sais; he was speaking with 
much spirit, and the Egyptians received it with loud 
applause. 

Cleopatra’s countenance darkened more ^ and more, 
but she concealed it behind her fan, signed to Philo- 
metor to approach, and whispered to him : 

“Keep near Euergetes; he has a great deal too 
much to say to the Egyptians. He is extremely anx- 
ious to stand well with them, and those whom he really 
desires- to please are completely entrapped by his por- 
tentous amiability. He has spoiled my evening, and I 
shall leave you to yourselves.” 

“Till to-morrow, then.” 

“ I shall hear the Roman’s complaint up on my roof- 
terrace; there is always a fresh air up there. If you 
wish to be present I will send for you, but first I would 
speak to him alone, for he has received letters from the 


THE SISTERS. 


139 


Senate which may contain something of importance* 
So, till to-morrow.’’ 


CHAPTER XII. 

While, in the vast peristyle, many a cup was still 
being emptied, and the carousers were growing merrier 
and noisier — while Cleopatra was abusing the maids 
and ladies who were undressing her for their clumsiness 
and unreadiness, because every touch hurt her, and 
every pin taken out of her dress pricked her — the Ro- 
man and his friend Lysias walked up and down in their 
tent in violent agitation. 

Speak lower,” said the Greek, ‘Tor the very griffins 
woven into the tissue of these thin walls seem to me to 
be lying in wait, and listening. 

“I certainly was not mistaken. When I came to 
fetch the gems I saw a light gleaming in the doorway 
as I approached it; but the intruder must have been 
warned, for just as I got up to the lantern in front of the 
servants’ tent, it disappeared, and the torch which usu- 
ally burns outside our tent had not been lighted at all ; 
but a beam of light fell on the road, and a man’s figure 
slipped across in a black robe sprinkled with gold orna- 
ments which I saw glitter as the pale light of the lan- 
tern fell upon them — just as a slimy, black newt glides 
through a pool. I have good eyes as you know, and 
I will give one of them at this moment, if I am mis- 
taken, and if the cat that stole into our tent was not 
Eulseus.” 


THE SISTERS. 


140 

And why did you not have him caught ? ” asked 
Publius, provoked. 

“ Because our tent was pitch-dark,” replied Lysias, 
and that stout villain is as slippery as a badger with the 
dogs at his heels. Owls, bats and such vermin which 
seek their prey by night are all hideous to me, and this 
Eulaeus, who grins like a hyaena when he laughs — ” 

‘^This Eulaeus,” said Publius, interrupting his friend, 
shall learn to know me, and know too by experience 
that a man comes to no good, who picks a quarrel with 
my father’s son.” 

‘‘ But, in the first instance, you treated him with 
disdain and discourtesy,” said Lysias, ^‘and that was 
not wise.” 

“Wise, and wise, and wise!” the Roman broke out 
“ He is a scoundrel. It makes no difference to me so 
long as he keeps out of my way; but when, as has 
been the case for several days now, he constantly sticks 
close to me to spy upon me, and treats me as if he were 
my equal, I will show him that he is mistaken. He 
has no reason to complain of my want of frankness; he 
knows my opinion of him, and that I am quite inclined 
to give him a thrashing. If I wanted to meet his cun- 
ning with cunning I should get the worst of it, for he 
is far superior to me in intrigue. I shall fare better 
with Ifim by my own unconcealed mode of fighting, 
which is new to him and puzzles him; besides it is 
better suited to my own nature, and more consonant to 
me than any other. He is not only sly, but is keen- 
witted, and he has at once connected the complaint 
which I have threatened to bring against him with the 
manuscript which Serapion, the recluse, gave me in his 
presence. There it lies — only look. 


THE SISTERS. 


141 

^^Now, being not merely crafty, but a daring rascal 
too — two qualities which generally contradict each 
other, for no one who is really prudent lives in disobe- 
dience to the laws — he has secretly untied the strings 
which fastened it. But, you see, he had not time 
enough to tie the roll up again ! He has read it all or 
in part, and I wish him joy of the picture of himself 
he will have found painted there. The anchorite 
wields a powerful pen, and paints with a firm outline 
and strongly marked coloring. If he has read the roll 
to the end it will spare me the trouble of explaining to 
him what I purpose to charge him with; if you dis- 
turbed him too soon I shall have to be more explicit in 
my accusation. Be that as it may, it is all the same to 
me.” 

‘‘Nay, certainly not,” cried Lysias, “for in the first 
case Eulaeus will have time to meditate his lies, and 
bribe witnesses for his defence. If any one entrusted 
me with such important papers — and if it had not been 
you who neglected to do it — I would carefully seal or 
lock them up. Where have you put the despatch from 
the Senate which the messenger brought you just now?” 

“ That is locked up in this casket,” replied Publius, 
moving his hand to press it more closely over his robe, 
under which he had carefully hidden it. 

“May I not know what it contains?” asked the 
Corinthian. 

“No, there is not time for that now, for we must 
first, and at once, consider what can be done to repair 
the last mischief which you have done. Is it not a dis- 
graceful thing that you should betray the sweet creature 
whose childlike embarrassment charmed us this morn- 
ing — of v/hom you yourself said, as we came home, that 


142 


THE SISTERS. 


she remirided you of your lovely sister — that you should 
betray her, I say, into the power of the wildest of all 
the profligates I ever met — to this monster, whose 
pleasures are the unspeakable, whose boast is vice? 
What has Euergetes — 

‘‘By great Poseidon!” cried Lysias, eagerly inter- 
rupting his friend. “ I never once thought of this second 
Alcibiades when I mentioned her. What can the man- 
ager of a performance do, but all in his power to secure 
the applause of the audience? and, by my honor! it 
was for my own sake that I wanted to bring Irene into 
the palace — I am mad with love for her — she has un- 
done me.” 

“Aye! like Callista, and Phryne, and the flute- 
player Stephanion,” interrupted the Roman, shrugging 
his shoulders. 

“ How should it be different ? ” asked the Corinthian, 
looking at his friend in astonishment. “ Eros has many 
arrows in his quiver; one strikes deeply, another less 
deeply; and I believe that the wound I have received 
to-day will ache for many a week if I have to give up 
this child, who is even more charming than the much- 
admired Hebe on our cistern.” 

“ I advise you however to accustom yourself to the 
idea, and the sooner the better,” said Publius gravely, 
as he^et himself with his arms crossed, directly in front 
of the Greek. “What would you feel inclined to do to 
me if I took a fancy to lure your pretty sister — whom 
Irene, I repeat it, is said to resemble — to tempt her 
with base cunning from your parents’ house?” 

“ I protest against any such comparison,” cried the 
Corinthian very positively, and more genuinely exasper- 
ated than the Roman had ever seen him. 


THE SISTERS 


143 


‘^You are angry without cause/^ replied Publius 
calmly and gravely. ‘^Your sister is a charming girl, 
the ornament of your illustrious house, and yet I dare 
compare the humble Irene — ” 

‘^With her! do you mean to say?’^ Lysias shouted 
again. ‘‘That is a poor return for the hospitality which 
was shown to you by my parents and of which you 
formally sang the praises. I am a good-natured fellow 
and will submit to more from you than from any other 
man — I know not why, myself; — ^but in a matter like 
this I do not understand a joke! My sister is the only 
daughter of the noblest and richest house in Corinth 
and has many suitors. She is in no respect inferior to 
the child of your own parents, and I should like to know 
what you would say if I made so bold as to compare 
the proud Lucretia with this poor little thing, who car-" 
ries water like a serving-maid. — ” 

“Do so, by all means!” interrupted Publius coolly, 
“ I do not take your rage amiss, for you do not know 
who these two sisters are, in the temple of Serapis. 
Besides, they do not fill their jars for men but in 
the service of a god. Here — take this roll and 
read it through while I answer the despatch from 
Rome. Here! Spartacus, come and light a few more 
lamps.” 

In a few minutes the two young men were sitting 
opposite each other at the table which stood in the 
middle of their tent. Publius wrote busily, and only 
looked up when his friend, who was reading the an- 
chorite’s document, struck his hand on the table in dis- 
gust or sprang from his seat ejaculating bitter words of 
indignation. Both had finished at the same moment, 
and when Publius had folded and sealed his letter, and 


144 


THE SISTERS. 


Lysias had flung the roll on to the table, the Roman said 
slowly, as he looked his friend steadily in the face: 

‘‘Well?’^ 

‘‘Well!’’ repeated Lysias. “I now find myself in 
the humiliating position of being obliged to deem my- 
self more stupid than you— I must own you in the right, 
and beg your pardon for having thought you insolent 
and arrogant! Never, no never did I hear a story so 
infernally scandalous as that in that roll, and such a 
thing could never have occurred but among these ac- 
cursed Egyptians! Poor little Irene! And how can the 
dear little girl have kept such a sunny look through it 
all ! I could thrash myself like any school-boy to think 
that I — a fool among fools — should have directed the 
attention of Euergetes to this girl, and he, the most 
powerful and profligate man in the whole country. 
What can now be done to save Irene from him? I 
cannot endure the thought of seeing her aban- 
doned to his clutches, and I will not permit it to 
happen. 

“ Do not you think that we ought to take the water- 
bearers under our charge?” 

“Not only we ought but we must,” said Publius 
decisively; “and if we did not we should be contemp- 
tible wretches. Sii>ce the recluse took me into his con- 
fidence^ I feel as if it were my duty to watch over these 
girls whose parents have been stolen from them, as if I 
were their guardian — and you, my Lysias, shall help 
me. The elder sister is not now very friendly towards 
me, but I do not esteem her the less for that; the 
younger one seems less grave and reserved than Klea ; 
I saw how she responded to your smile when the pro- 
cession broke up. Afterwards, you did not come home 


THE SISTERS. 


H5 

immediately any more than I did, and I suspect that it 
was Irene who detained you. Be frank, I earnestly 
beseech you, and tell me all ; for we must act in unison, 
and with thorough deliberation, if we hope to succeed 
in spoiling Euergetes’ game.” 

‘‘ I have not much to tell you,” replied the Corin- 
thian. “After the procession I went to the Pastopho- 
rium — naturally it was to see Irene, and in order not 
to fail in this I allowed the pilgrims to tell me vhat 
visions the god had sent them in their dreams, and 
what advice had been given them in the temple of 
Asclepius as to what to do for their own complaints, 
and those of their cousins, male and female. 

“Quite half an hour had passed so before Irene 
came. She carried a little basket in which lay the gold 
ornaments she had worn at the festival, and which she 
had to restore to the keeper of the temple-treasure. 
My pomegranate-flower, which she had accepted in the 
morning, shone upon me from afar, and then, when she 
caught sight of me and blushed all over, casting down 
her eyes, then it was that it first struck me ‘just like 
the Hebe on our cistern.’ 

“She wanted to pass me, but I detained her, beg- 
ging her to show me the ornaments in her hand; I said 
a number of things such as girls like to hear, and then 
I asked her if she were strictly watched, and whether 
they gave her delicate little hands and feet — which were 
worthy of better occupation than water-carrying — a 
great deal to do. She did not hesitate to answer, but 
with all she said she rarely raised her eyes . The longer 
you look at her the lovelier she is — and yet she is still 
a mere child — though a child certainly who no longer 
loves staying at home, who has dreams of splendor, and 


146 


THE SISTERS. 


enjoyment; and freedom while she is kept shut up in a 
dismal, dark place, and left to starve. 

“The poor creatures may never quit the temple 
excepting for a procession, or before sunrise. It 
sounded too delightlul when she said that she was 
always so horribly tired, and so glad to go to sleep 
again after she was waked, and had to go out at once 
just when it is coldest, in the twilight before sunrise. 
Then she has to draw water from a cistern called the 
Well of the Sun.” 

“Do you know where that cistern lies?” asked Pub- 
lius. 

“Behind the acacia-grove,” answered Lysias. “The 
guide pointed it out to me. It is said to hold particu- 
larly sacred water, which must be poured as a libation 
to the god at sunrise, unmixed with any other. The 
girls must get up so early, that as soon as dawn breaks 
water from this cistern shall not be lacking at the altar 
of Serapis. It is poured out on the earth by the priests 
as a drink-offering.” 

Publius had listened attentively, and had not lost a 
word of his friend’s narrative. He now quitted him 
hastily, opened the tent-door, and went out into the 
night, looking up to discover the hour from the stars 
which^jere silently pursuing their everlasting courses in 
countless thousands, and sparkling with extraordinary 
brilliancy in the deep blue sky. The moon was already 
set, and the morning-star was slowly rising — every 
night since the Roman had been in the land of the 
Pyramids he had admired its magnificent size and 
brightness. 

A cold breeze fanned the young man’s brow, and 
as he drew his robe across his breast with a shiver, he 


THE SISTERS. 


147 


thought of the sisters, who, before long, would have to 
go out in the fresh morning air. Once more he raised 
his eyes from the earth to the firmament over his head, 
and it seemed to him that he saw before his very eyes 
the proud form of Klea, enveloped in a mantle sown 
over with stars. His heart throbbed high, and he felt 
as if the breeze that his heaving breast inhaled in deep 
breaths was as fresh and pure as the ether that floats 
over Elysium, and of a strange potency withal, as if too 
rare to breathe. Still he fancied he saw before him the 
image of Klea, but as he stretched out his hand towards 
the beautiful vision it vanished — a sound of hoofs and 
wheels fell upon his ear. Publius was not accustomed 
to abandon himself to dreaming when action was 
needed, and this reminded him of the purpose for which 
he had come out into the open air. Chariot after char- 
iot came driving past as he returned into his tent. 
Lysias, who during his absence had been pacing up and 
down and reflecting, met him with the question : 

“ How long is it yet till sunrise ? ” 

Hardly two hours,” replied the Roman. “And we 
must make good use of them if we would not arrive too 
late.” 

“ So I think too,” said the Corinthian. “ The sisters 
will soon be at the Well of the Sun outside the temple- 
walls, and I will persuade Irene to follow me. You 
think I shall not be successful? Nor do I myself — but 
still perhaps she will if I promise to show her something 
very pretty, and if she does not suspect that she is to be 
parted from her sister, for she is like a child.” 

“But Klea,” interrupted Publius thoughtfully, “is 
grave and prudent ; and the light tone whicl> you are so 
ready to adopt will be very little to her taste. Consider 


148 


THE SISTERS. 


that, and dare the attempt — no, you dare not deceive her. 
Tell her the whole truth, out of Irene’s hearing, with the 
gravity the matter deserves, and she will not hinder her 
sister when she knows how great and how imminent is 
the danger that threatens her.” 

‘‘Good!” said the Corinthian. “I will be so sol- 
emnly earnest that the most wrinkled and furrowed gray- 
beard among the censors of your native city shall seem 
a Dionysiac dancer compared with me. I will speak 
like your Cato when he so bitterly complained that the 
epicures of Rome paid more now for a barrel of fresh her- 
rings than for a yoke of oxen. You shall be perfectly 
satisfied with me! — But whither am I to conduct Irene? 
I might perhaps make use of one of the king’s chariots 
which are passing now by dozens to carry the guests 
home.” 

“ I also had thought of that,” replied Publius. “ Go 
with the chief of the Diadoches, whose splendid house 
was shown to us yesterday. It is on the way to the 
Serapeum, and just now at the feast you were talking 
with him incessantly. When there, indemnify the driver 
by the gift of a gold piece, so that he may not betray us, 
and do not return here but proceed to the harbor. I 
will await you near the little temple of Isis with our 
travelling chariot and my own horses, will receive Irene, 
and conduct her to some new refuge while you drive 
back Euergetes’ chariot, and restore it to the driver.” 

“That will not satisfy me by any means,” said Ly- 
sias very gravely ; “ I was ready to give up my pome- 
granate-flower to you yesterday for Irene, but herself — ” 

“ I want nothing of her,” exclaimed Publius annoyed. 
“ But you might — it seems to me — be rather more zeal- 
ous in helping me to preserve her from the misfortune 


THE SISTERS. 


149 


which threatens her through your own blunder. We 
cannot bring her here, but I think that I have thought 
of a safe hiding-place for her. 

“Do you remember Apollodorus, the sculptor, to 
whom we were recommended by my father, and his kind 
and friendly wife who set before us that capital Chios 
wine ? The man owes me a service, for my father com- 
missioned him and his assistants to execute the mosaic 
pavement in the new arcade he was* having built in the 
capitol; and subsequently, when the envy of rival artists 
threatened his life, my father saved him. You yourself 
heard him say that he and his were all at my disposal.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” said Lysias. “ But say, does 
it not strike you as most extraordinary that artists, the 
very men, that is to say, who beyond all others devote 
themselves to ideal aims and efforts, are particularly 
ready to yield to the basest impulses; envy, detraction, 
and — ” 

“Man!” exclaimed Publius, angrily interrupting the 
Greek, “ can you never for ten seconds keep on the same 
subject, and never keep anything to yourself that comes 
into your head? We have just now, as it seems to 
me, more important matters to discuss than the jealousy 
of each other shown by artists — and in my opinion, by 
learned men too. The sculptor Apollodorus, who is 
thus beholden to me, has been living here for the last 
six months with his wife and daughters, for he has been 
executing for Philometor the busts of the philosophers, 
and the animal groups to decorate the open space in 
front of the tomb of Apis. His sons are managers of 
his large factory in Alexandria, and when he next goes 
there, down the Nile in his boat, as often happens, he 
can take Irene with him, and put her on board a ship. 


THE SISTERS. 


ISO 

As to where we can have her taken to keep her safe 
from Euergetes, we will talk that over afterwards with 
Apollodorus.” 

“ Good, very good,” agreed the Corinthian. “ By 
Heracles ! I am not suspicious — still it does not alto- 
gether please me that you should yourself conduct 
Irene to Apollodorus, for if you are seen in her com- 
pany our whole project maybe shipwrecked. Send the 
sculptor’s wife, who is little known in Memphis, to the 
temple of Isis, and request her to' bring a veil and 
cloak to conceal the girl. Greet the gay Milesian from 
me too, and tell her — no, tell her nothing — I shall see 
her myself afterwards at the temple of Isis.” 

During the last words of this conversation, slaves 
had been enveloping the two young men in their man- 
tles. They now quitted the tent together, wished each 
other success, and set out at a brisk pace; the Roman 
to have his horses harnessed, and Lysias to accompany 
the chief of the Diadoches in one of the king’s chariots, 
and then to act on the plan he had agreed upon with 
Publius. 


CHAPTER XHI. 

Chariot after chariot hurried out of the great gate 
of the king’s palace and into the city, now sunk in 
slumber. All was still in the great banqueting-hall, and 
dark-hued slaves began with brooms and sponges to 
clean the mosaic pavement, which was strewed with 
rose leaves and with those that had fallen from the 
faded garlands of ivy and poplar; while here and there 


THE SISTERS. 


15^ 

the spilt wine shone with a dark gleam in the dim light 
of the few lamps that had not been extinguished. 

A young flute-player, overcome with sleep and wine, 
still sat in one corner. The poplar wreath that had 
crowned his curls had slipped over his pretty face, but 
even in sleep he still held his flute clasped fast in his 
fingers. The servants let him sleep on, and bustled 
about without noticing him; only an overseer pointed 
to him, and said laughing: 

His companions went home no more sober than 
that one. He is a pretty boy, and pretty Chios’s lover 
besides — she will look for him in vain this morning.” 

‘‘And to-morrow too perhaps,” answered another; 
“for if the fat king sees her, poor Damon will have seen 
the last of her.” 

But the fat king, as Euergetes was called by the 
Alexandrians, and, following their example, by all the 
rest of Egypt, was not just then thinking of Chloe, nor 
of any such person; he was in the bath attached to his 
splendidly fitted residence. Divested of all clothing, he 
was standing in the tepid fluid which completely filled 
a huge basin of white marble. The clear surface of the 
perfumed water mirrored statues of nymphs fleeing from 
the pursuit of satyrs, and reflected the shimmering light 
of numbers of lamps suspended from the ceiling. At 
the upper end of the bath reclined the bearded and 
stalwart statue of the Nile, over whom the sixteen in- 
fant figures — representing the number of ells to which 
the great Egyptian stream must rise to secure a favor- 
able inundation — clambered and played to the delight 
of their noble father Nile and of themselves. From 
the vase which supported the arm of the venerable god 
flowed an abundant stream of cold water, which five 


IS2 


THE SISTERS. 


pretty lads received in slender alabaster vases, and 
poured over the head and the enormously prominent 
muscles of the breast, the back and the arms of the 
young king who was taking his bath. 

‘‘More, more — again and again,'’ cried Euergetes, 
as the boys began to pause in bringing and pouring the 
water; and then, when they threw a fresh stream over 
him, he snorted and plunged with satisfaction, and a 
perfect shower of jets splashed otf him as the blast of his 
breath sputtered away the water that fell over his face. 

At last he shouted out: “Enough!” flung himself 
with all his force into the water, that spurted up as if a 
huge block of stone had been thrown into it, held his 
head for a long time under water, and then went up the 
marble steps of the bath shaking his head violently and 
mischievously in his boyish insolence, so as thoroughly 
to wet his friends and servants who were standing round 
the margin of the basin; he suffered himself to be 
wrapped in snowy- white sheets of the thinnest and finest 
linen, to be sprinkled with costly essences of delicate 
odor, and then he withdrew into a small room hung all 
round with gaudy hangings. 

There he flung himself on a mound of soft cushions, 
and said with a deep-drawn breath: “ Now I am happy; 
and I am as sober again as a baby that has never tasted 
anythii^ but its mother’s milk. Pindar is right I there 
is nothing better than water! and it slakes that raging 
fire which wine lights up in our brain and blood. Did 
I talk much nonsense just now, Hierax?” 

The man thus addressed, the commander-in-chief of 
the royal troops, and the king’s particular friend, cast a 
hesitating glance at the bystanders; but, Euergetes de- 
siring him to speak without reserve, he replied : 


THE SISTERS. 


I S3 


“Wine never weakens the mind of such as you are to 
the point of folly, but you were imprudent. It would be 
little short of a miracle if Philometor did not remark — ” 

“Capital!” interrupted the king sitting up on his 
cushions. “You, Hierax, and you, Komanus, remain 
here — you others may go. But do not go too far off, 
so as to be close at hand in case I should need you. 
In these days as much happens in a few hours as usually 
takes place in as many years.” 

Those who were thus dismissed withdrew, only the 
king’s dresser, a Macedonian of rank, paused doubtfully 
at the door, but Euergetes signed to him to retire imme- 
diately, calling after him : 

“I am very merry and shall not go to ‘bed. At 
three hours after sunrise I expect Aristarchus — and for 
work too. Put out the manuscripts that I brought. Is 
the Eunuch Eulseus waiting in the anteroom? Yes — 
so much the better! 

“Now we are alone, my wise friends Hierax and 
Komanus, and I must explain to you that on this occa- 
sion, out of pure prudence, you seem to me to have 
been anything rather than prudent. To be prudent is 
to have the command of a wide circle of thought, so that 
what is close at hand is no more an obstacle than what 
is remote. The narrow mind can command only that 
which lies close under observation; the fool and vision- 
ary only that which is far off. I will not blame you, for 
even the wisest has his hours of folly, but on this occa- 
sion you have certainly overlooked that which is at 
hand, in gazing at the distance, and I see you stumble in 
consequence. If you had not fallen into that error you 
would hardly have looked so bewildered when, just now, 
I exclaimed ^Capital!’ 


154 


THE SISTERS. 


Now, attend to me. Philometor and my sister 
know very well what my humor is, and what to expect- 
of me. If I had put on the mask of a satisified man 
they would have been surprised, and have scented mis- 
chief, but as it was I showed myself to them exactly 
what I always am and even more reckless than usual ^ 
and talked of what I wanted so openly that they may 
indeed look forward to some deed of violence at my 
hands but hardly to a treacherous surprise, and that to- 
morrow; for he who falls on his enemy in the rear 
makes no noise about it. 

If I believed in your casuistry, I might think that 
to attack the enemy from behind was not a particularly 
fine thing to do, for even I would rather see a man’s 
face than his rear — particularly in the case of my brother 
and sister, who are both handsome to look upon. But 
what can a man do ? After all, the best thing to do 
is what wins the victory and makes the game. Indeed, 
my mode of warfare has found supporters among the 
wise. If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon, 
and if we are to tempt men into a snare we must know 
what their notions and ideas are, and begin by endeav- 
oring to confuse them. 

“A bull is least dangerous when he runs straight 
ahead in his fury; while his two-legged opponent is 
least dangerous when he does not know what he is 
about and runs feeling his way first to the right and 
then to the left. Thanks to your approval — for I have 
deserved it, and I hope to be able to return it, my friend 
Hierax. I am curious as to your report. Shake up the 
cushion here under my head — and now you may 
begin.” 

^‘All appears admirably arranged,” answered the 


THE SISTERS. 


IS5 


general. ‘‘The flower of our troops, the Diadoches 
and Hetairoi, two thousand-five hundred men, are on 
their way hither, and by to-morrow will encamp north 
of Memphis. Five hundred will find their way into the 
citadel, with the priests and other visitors to congratu- 
late you on your birthday, the other two thousand will 
remain concealed in the tents. The captain of your 
brother Philometor’s Philobasilistes is bought over, and 
will stand by us; but his price was high — Komanus was 
forced to offer him twenty talents before he would 
bite.” 

“ He shall have them,” said the king laughing, “and 
he shall keep them too, till it suits me to regard him as 
suspicious, and to reward him according to his deserts 
by confiscating his estates. Well ! proceed.” 

“ In order to quench the rising in Thebes, the day 
before yesterday Philometor sent the best of the merce- 
naries with the standards of Desilaus and Arsinoe to the 
South. Certainly it cost not a little to bribe the ring- 
leaders, and to stir up the discontent to an outbreak.” 

“ My brother will repay us for this outlay,” inter- 
rupted the king, “when we pour his treasure into our 
own coffers. Go on.” 

“We shall have most difficulty with the priests and 
the Jews. The former cling to Philometor, because he 
is the eldest son of his father, and has given large boun- 
ties to the temples, particularly of Apollinopolis and 
Philse; the Jews are attached to him, because he favors 
them more than the Greeks, and he, and his wife — your 
illustrious sister— trouble themselves with their vain relig- 
ious squabbles; he disputes with them about the doc- 
trines contained in their book, and at table too prefers 
conversing with them to any one else.” 


THE SISTERS. 


156 


‘‘ I will salt the wine and meat for them that they 
fatten on here,” cried Euergetes vehemently, I forbade 
to-day their presence at my table, for they have good 
eyes and wits as sharp as their noses. And they are 
most dangerous when they are in fear, or can reckon on 
any gains. 

‘‘At the same time it cannot be denied that they are 
honest and tenacious, and as most of them are pos- 
sessed of some property they rarely make common cause 
with the shrieking mob — particularly here in Alex- 
andria. 

“ Envy alone can reproach them for their industry 
and enterprise, for the activity of the Hellenes has im- 
proved upon the example set by them and their Phoe- 
nician kindred. 

“They thrive best in peaceful times, and since the 
world runs more quietly here, under my brother and 
sister, than under me, they attach themselves to them, 
lend my brother money, and supply my sister with cut 
stones, sapphires and emeralds, selling fine stuffs and 
other woman’s gear for a scrap of written papyrus, which 
will soon be of no more value than the feather which 
falls from the wing of that green screaming bird on the 
perch yonder. 

“ It is incomprehensible to me that so keen a people 
cannoT perceive that there is nothing permanent but 
change, nothing so certain as that nothing is certain ; 
and that they therefore should regard their god as the 
one only god, their own doctrine as absolutely and eter- 
nally true, and that they contemn what other peoples 
believe. 

“These darkened views make fools of them, but cer- 
tainly good soldiers too — perhaps by reason indeed of 


THE SISTERS. 


157 


this very exalted self-consciousness and their firm reli- 
ance on their supreme god.” 

‘^Yes, they certainly are,” assented Hierax. “But 
they serve your brother more willingly, and at a lower 
price, than us.” 

“ I will show them,” cried the king, “ that their taste 
is a perverted and obnoxious one. I require of the 
priests that they should instruct the people to be obedi- 
ent, and to bear their privations patiently; but the 
Jews,” and at these words his eyes rolled with an omi- 
nous glare, “the Jews I will exterminate, when the time 
comes.” 

“ That will be good for our treasury too,” laughed 
Komanus. 

“And for the temples in the country,” added Euer- 
getes, “ for though I seek to extirpate other foes I would 
rather win over the priests; and I must try to win 
them if Philometor’s kingdom falls into my hands, for 
the Egyptians require that their king should be a god; 
and I cannot arrive at the dignity of a real god, to whom 
my swarthy subjects will pray with thorough satisfaction, 
and without making my life a burden to me by con- 
tinual revolts, unless I am raised to it by the suffrages of 
the priests.” 

“And nevertheless,” replied Hierax, who was the 
only one of Euergetes’ dependents, who dared to con- 
tradict him on important questions, “nevertheless this 
very day a grave demand is to be preferred on your ac- 
count to the high-priest of Serapis. You press for the 
surrender of a servant of the god, and Philometor will 
not neglect — ” 

“Will not neglect,” interrupted Euergetes, “to inform 
the mighty Asclepiodorus that he wants the sweet 


THE SISTERS. 


158 

creature for me, and not for himself Do you know 
that Eros has pierced my heart, and that I burn for the 
fair Irene, although these eyes have not yet been blessed 
with the sight of her ? 

‘‘ I see you believe me, and I am speaking the exact 
truth, for I vow I will possess myself of this infantine 
Hebe as surely as I hope to win my brother’s throne; 
but when I plant a tree, it is not merely to ornament my 
garden but to get some use of it. You will see how I 
will win over both the prettiest of little lady-loves and 
the high-priest who, to be sure, is a Greek, but still a 
man hard to bend. My tools are all ready outside 
there. 

“ Now, leave me, and order Eulaeus to join me here.” 

You are as a divinity,” said Komanus, bowing 
deeply, ‘‘and we but as frail mortals. Your proceedings 
often seem dark and incomprehensible to our weak in- 
tellect, but when a course, which to us seems to lead to 
no good issue, turns out well, we are forced to admit 
with astonishment that you always choose the best way, 
though often a tortuous one.” 

For a short time the king was alone, sitting with his 
black brows knit, and gazing meditatively at the floor. 
But as soon as he heard the soft foot-fall of Eulseus, and 
the louder step of his guide, he once more assumed the 
aspect- of a careless and reckless man of the world, 
shouted a jolly welcome to Eulaeus, reminded him of 
his, the king’s, boyhood, and of how often he, Eulaeus, 
had helped him to persuade his mother to grant him 
some wish she had previously refused him. 

“ But now, old boy,” continued the king, “ the times 
are changed, and with you now-a-days it is everything 
for Philometor and nothing for poor Euergetes, who, 


THE SISTERS. 


159 


being the younger, is just the one who most needs your 
assistance.” 

Eulaeus bowed with a smile which conveyed that he 
understood perfectly# how little the king’s last words 
were spoken in earnest, and he said: 

I purposed always to assist the weaker of you two, 
and that is what I believe myself to be doing now.” 

^‘You mean my sister?” 

Our sovereign lady Cleopatra is of the sex which 
is often unjustly called the weaker. Though you no 
doubt were pleased to speak in jest when you asked that 
question, I feel bound to answer you distinctly that it 
was not Cleopatra that I meant, but King Philometor.” 

Philometor ? Then you have no faith in his strength, 
you regard me as stronger than he; and yet, at the ban- 
quet to-day, you offered me your services, and told me 
that the task had devolved upon you of demanding the 
surrender of the little serving-maiden of Serapis, in the 
king’s name, of Asclepiodorus, the high-priest. Do 
you call that aiding the weaker ? But perhaps you were 
drunk when you told me that? 

^‘No? You were more moderate than I? Then 
some other change of views must have taken place in 
you; and yet that would very much surprise me, since 
your principles require you to aid the weaker son of my 
mother — ” 

‘^You are laughing at me,” interrupted the courtier 
with gentle reproachfulness, and yet in a tone of en- 
treaty. If I took your side it was not from caprice, 
but simply and expressly from a desire to remain faith- 
ful to the one aim and end of my life.” 

And that is?” 

“To provide for the welfare of this country in the 


l6o THE SISTERS. 

i 

same sense as did your illustrious mother, whose coun- 
sellor I was.’’ 

‘‘But you forget to mention the other — to place 
yourself to the best possible advantage.” 

“ I did not forget it, but I did not tnention it, for I 
know how closely measured out are the moments of a 
king; and besides, it seems to me as self-evident that we 
think of our personal advantage as that when we buy a 
horse we also buy his shadow.” 

“How subtle! But I no more blame you than I 
should a girl who stands before her mirror to deck her- 
self for her lover, and who takes the same opportunity 
of rejoicing in her own beauty. 

“ However, to return to your first speech. It is for 
the sake of Egypt as you think — if I understand you 
rightly — that you now offer me the services you have 
hitherto devoted to my brother’s interests?” 

“As you say; in these difficult times the country 
needs the will and the hand of a powerful leader.” 

“And such a leader you think I am?” 

“Aye, a giant in strength of will, body and intellect 
— whose desire to unite the two parts of Egypt in your 
sole possession cannot fail, if you strike and grasp 
boldly, and if — ” 

“ If? ” repeated the king, looking at the speaker so 
keenl}^ that his eyes fell, and he answered softly: 

“ If Rome should raise no objection.” 

Euergetes shrugged his shoulders, and replied 
gravely : 

“Rome indeed is like Fate, which always must give 
the final decision in everything we do. I have certainly 
not been behindhand in enormous sacrifices to mollify 
that inexorable power, and my representative, through 


THE SISTERS. 


i6i 


whose hands pass far greater sums than through those 
of the paymasters of the troops, writes me word that 
they are not unfavorably disposed towards me in the 
Senate.’^ ^ 

^‘We have learned that from ours also. You have 
more friends by the Tiber than Philometor, my own 
king, has ; but our last despatch is already several weeks 
old, and in the last few days things have occurred — ” 

‘‘ Speak ! ” cried Euergetes, sitting bolt upright on his 
cushions. ‘‘ But if you are laying a trap for me, and if 
you are speaking now as my brother’s tool, I will punish 
you — aye ! and if you fled to the uttermost cave of the 
Troglodytes I would have you followed up, and you 
should be torn in pieces alive, as surely as I believe my- 
self to be the true son of my father.” 

‘‘And I should deserve the punishment,” replied 
Eulaeus humbly. Then he went on: “If I see clearly, 
great events lie before us in the next few days.” 

“Yes — truly,” said Euergetes firmly. 

“But just at present Philometor is better represented 
in Rome than he has ever been. You made acquaint- 
ance with young Publius Scipio at the king’s table, and 
showed little zeal in endeavoring to win his good graces.” 

“He is one of the Comelii,” interrupted the king, 
“a distinguished young man, and related to all the 
noblest blood of Rome; but he is not an ambassador; 
he has travelled from Athens to Alexandria, in order to 
learn more than he need; and he carries his head higher 
and speaks more freely than becomes him before kings, 
because the young fellows fancy it looks well to behave 
like their elders.” 

“ He is of more importance than you imagine.” 

“Then I will invite him to Alexandria, and there 


i 62 


THE SISTERS. 


will win him over in three days, as surely as my name 
is Euergetes.” 

‘‘ It will then be too late, for he has to-day received, 
as I know for certain, plenipotentiary powers from the 
Senate to act in their name in case of need, until the en- 
voy who is to be sent here again arrives.” 

“And I only now learn this for the first time!” cried 
the king springing up from his couch, “my friends must 
be deaf, and blind and dull indeed, if still I have any, 
and my servants and emissaries too! I cannot bear this 
haughty ungracious fellow; but I will invite him to- 
morrow morning — nay I will invite him to-day, to a fes- 
tive entertainment, and send him the four handsomest 
horses that I have brought with me from Cyrene. I 
will — ” 

“ It will all be in vain,” said Eulseus calmly and dis- 
passionately. “For he is master, in the fullest and 
widest meaning of the word, of the queen’s favor — nay 
— if I may permit myself to speak out freely — of Cleo- 
patra’s more than warm liking, and he enjoys this sweet- 
est of gifts with a thankful heart. Philometor — as he 
always does — lets matters go as they may, and Cleopatra 
and Publius — Publius and Cleopatra triumph even pub- 
licly in their love; gaze into each other’s eyes like any 
pair of pastoral Arcadians, exchange cups and kiss the 
rim -on the spot where the lips of the other have touched 
it. Promise and grant what you will to this man, he 
will stand by your sister; and if you should succeed in 
expelling her from the throne he would boldly treat you 
as Popilius Laenas did your uncle Antiochus : he would 
draw a circle round your person, and say that if you 
dared to step beyond it Rome would march against 
you.” 


THE SISTERS. 


163 


Euergetes listened in silence, then, flinging away the 
draperies that wrapped his body, he paced up and down 
in stormy agitation, groaning from time to time, and 
roaring like a wild bull that feels itself confined with 
cords and bands, and that exerts all its strength in vain 
to rend them. 

Finally he stood still in front of Eulaeus and asked 
him: 

‘‘What more do you know of the Roman?” 

“ He, who would not allow you to compare yourself 
to Alcibiades, is endeavoring to out- do that darling of 
the Athenian maidens; for he is not content with having 
stolen the heart of the king’s wife, he is putting out his 
hand to reach the fairest virgin who serves the highest 
of the gods. The water-bearer, whom Lysias, the 
Roman’s friend, recommended for a Hebe is beloved by 
Publius, and he hopes to enjoy her favors more easily 
in your gay palace than he can in the gloomy temple of 
Serapis.” 

At these words the king struck his forehead with his 
hand, exclaiming: “Oh! to be a king — a man who is 
a match for any ten! and to be obliged to submit with 
a patient shrug like a peasant whose grain my horsemen 
crush into the ground! 

“He can spoil everything; mar all my plans and 
thwart all my desires — and I can do nothing but 
clench my fist, and suffocate v/ith rage. But this 
fuming and groaning are just as unavailing as my 
raging and cursing by the death-bed of my mother, 

who was dead all the same and never got up 

again. 

“ If this Publius were a Greek, a Syrian, an Egyptian 
— nay, were he my own brother — I tell you, Eulaeus, he 


164 


THE SISTERS. 


should not long stand in my way; but he is pleni- 
potentiary from Rome, and Rome is Fate — Rome is 
Fate.” 

The king flung himself back on to his cushions with 
a deep sigh, and as if crushed with despair, hiding his 
face in the soft pillows; but Eulaeus crept noiselessly up 
to the young giant, and whispered in his ear with sol- 
emn deliberateness: 

“Rome is Fate, but even Rome can do nothing 
against Fate. Publius Scipio must die because he is 
ruining your mother’s daughter, and stands in the way 
of your saving Egypt. The Senate would take a terrible 
revenge if he were murdered, but what can they do if 
wild beasts fall on their plenipotentiary, and tear him to 
pieces ? ” 

“ Grand ! splendid ! ” cried Euergetes, springing again 
to his feet, and opening his large eyes with radiant sur- 
prise and delight, as if heaven itself had opened before 
them, revealing the sublime host of the gods feasting at 
golden tables. 

“You are a great man, Eulaeus, and I shall know 
how to reward you; but do you know of such wild 
beasts as we require, and do they know how to conduct 
themselves so that no one shall dare to harbor even the 
shadow of a suspicion that the wounds tom by their 
teeth and claws were inflicted by daggers, pikes or spear- 
heads ? ” 

“ Be perfectly easy,” replied Eulaeus. “These beasts 
of prey have already had work to do here in Memphis, 
and are in the service of the king — ” 

“Aha! of my gentle brother!” laughed Euergetes. 
“ And he boasts of never having killed any one except- 
ing in battle — and now — ” 


THE SISTERS. 


1^5 

“But Philometor has a wife,” interposed Eulaeus; 
and Euergetes went on. 

“Aye, woman, woman! what is there that a man 
may not learn from a woman ? ” 

Then he added in a lower tone: “When can your 
wild beasts do their work ? ” 

“The sun has long since risen; before it sets I will 
have made my preparations, and by about midnight, I 
should think, the deed may be done. We will promise 
the Roman a secret meeting, lure him out to the tem- 
ple of Serapis, and on his way home through the desert — ” 
“Aye, then, — ” cried the king, making a thrust at 
his own breast as though his hand held a dagger, and 
he added in warning: “But your beasts must be as 
powerful as lions, and as cautious — as cautious, as cats. 
If you want gold apply to Komanus, or, better still, take 
this purse. Is it enough? Still I must ask you; have 
3^ou any personal ground of hatred against the Roman ? ” 
“Yes,” answered Eulaeus decisively. “He guesses 
that I know all about him and his doings, and he has 
attacked me with false accusations which may bring me 
into peril this very day. If you should hear that the 
queen has decided on throwing me into prison, take im- 
mediate steps for my liberation.” 

“No one shall touch a hair of your head; depend 
upon that. I see that it is to your interest to play my 
game, and I am heartily glad of it, for a man works 
with all his might for no one but himself. And now for 
the last thing: When will you fetch my little Hebe?” 

“In an hour’s time I am going to Asclepiodorus; 
but we must not demand the girl till to-morrow, for to- 
day she must remain in the temple as a decoy-bird for 
Publius Scipio.” 


THE SISTERS. 


l66 


‘‘I will take patience; still I have yet another charge 
to give you. Represent the matter to the high-priest 
in such a way that he shall think my brother wishes to 
gratify one of my fancies by demanding — absolutely de- 
manding — the water-bearer on my behalf. Provoke the 
man as far as is possible without exciting suspicion, and if 
I know him rightly, he will stand upon his rights, and 
refuse you persistently. Then, after you, will come 
Komanus from me with greetings and gifts and promises. 

‘^To-morrow, when we have done what must be done 
to the Roman, you shall fetch the girl in my brother’s 
name either by cunning or by force ; and the day after, 
if the gods graciously lend me their aid in uniting the 
two realms of Egypt under my own hand, I will explain 
to Asclepiodorus that I have punished Philometor for 
his sacrilege against his temple, and have deposed him 
from the throne. Serapis shall see which of us is his 
friend. 

“ iT all goes well, as I mean that it shall, I will appoint • 
you Epitropon of the re-united kingdom — that I swear to 
you by the souls of my deceased ancestors. I will speak 
with you to-day at any hour you may demand it.” 

Eulaeus departed with a step as light as if his inter- 
view with the king had restored him to youth. 

Wben Hierax, Komanus, and the other officers re- 
turned to the room, Euergetes gave orders that his four 
finest horses from Cyrene should be led before noonday 
to his friend Publius Cornelius Scipio, in token of his 
affection and respect. Then he suffered himself to be 
dressed, and went to Aristarchus with whom he sat 
down to work at his studies. 


THE SISTERS. 


167 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The temple of Serapis lay in restful silence, enveloped 
in darkness, which so far hid its four wings from sight as 
to give it the aspect of a single rock-like mass wrapped 
in purple mist. 

Outside the temple precincts too all had been still ; 
but just now a clatter of hoofs and rumble of wheels was 
audible through the silence, otherwise so profound that 
it seemed increased by every sound. Before the vehicle 
which occasioned this disturbance had reached the tem- 
ple, it stopped, just outside the sacred acacia-grove, 
for the neighing of a horse was now audible in that di- 
rection. 

It was one of the king’s horses that neighed; Lysias, 
the Greek, tied him up to a tree by the road at the edge 
of the grove, flung his mantle over the loins of the 
smoking beast; and feeling his way from tree to tree 
soon found himself by the Well of the Sun where he sat 
down on the margin. 

Presently from the east came a keen, cold breeze, the 
harbinger of sunrise ; the gray gloaming began by de- 
grees to pierce and part the tops of the tall trees, which, 
in the darkness, had seemed a compact black roof. The 
crowing of cocks rang out from the court-yard of the 
temple, and, as the Corinthian rose with a shiver to 
warm himself by a rapid walk backwards and forwards, 
he heard a door creak near the outer wall of the temple, 
of which the outline now grew sharper and clearer every 
instant in the growing light. 


THE SISTERS. 


1 68 


^ He now gazed with eager observation down the path 
which, as the day approached, stood out with increasing 
clearness from the surrounding shades, and his heart 
began to beat faster as he perceived a figure approach- 
ing the well, with rapid steps. It was a human form 
that advanced towards him — only one — no second 
figure accompanied it; but it was not a man— no, a 
woman in a long robe. Still, she for whom he waited 
was surely smaller than the woman, who now came near 
to him. Was it the elder and not the younger sister, 
whom alone he was anxious to speak with, who came 
to the well this morning? 

He could now distinguish her light foot-fall— now 
she was divided from him by a young acacia-shrub 
which hid her from his gaze — now she set down two 
water-jars on the ground— now she briskly lifted the 
bucket and filled the vessel she held in her left hand- 
now she looked towards the eastern horizon, where the 
dim light of dawn grew broader and brighter, and 
Lysias thought he recognized Irene — and now — Praised 
be the gods! he was sure; before him stood the younger 
and not the elder sister; the very maiden whom he sought. 

Still half concealed by the acacia-shrub, and in a 
soft voice so as not to alarm her, he called Irene’s name, 
and the poor child’s blood froze with terror, for never 
before-h4d she been startled by a man here, and at this 
hour. She stood as if rooted to the spot, and, trembling 
with fright, she pressed the cold, wet, golden jar, sacred 
to the god, closely to her bosom. 

Lysias repeated her name, a little louder than before, 
and went on, but in a subdued voice : 

^^Do not be frightened, Irene ; I am Lysias, the 
Corinthian — your friend, whose pomegranate- blossom 


THE SISTERS. 1 69 

you wore yesterday, and who spoke to you after the 
procession. Let me bid you good morning!” 

At these words the girl let her hand fall by her side, 
still holding the jar, and pressing her right hand to her 
heart, she exclaimed, drawing a deep breath : 

‘‘How dreadfully you frightened me! I thought some 
wandering soul was calling me that had not yet returned 
to the nether world, for it is not till the sun rises that 
spirits are scared away.” 

“ But it cannot scare men of flesh and blood whose 
purpose is good. I, you may believe me, would will- 
ingly stay with you, till Helios departs again, if you 
would permit me.” 

“ I can neither permit nor forbid you anything,” an- 
swered Irene. “But, how came you here at this hour?” 

“ In a chariot,” replied Lysias smiling. 

“That is nonsense — I want to know what you came 
to the Well of the Sun for at such an hour.” 

“ What but for you yourself ? You told me yesterday 
that you were glad to sleep, and so am I ; still, to see 
you once more, I have been only to glad to shorten my 
night’s rest considerably.” 

“ But, how did you know ? ” 

“You yourself told me yesterday at what time you 
were allowed to leave the temple.” 

“ Did I tell you ? Great Serapis ! how light it is 
already. I shall be punished if the water-jar is not 
standing on the altar by sunrise, and there is Klea’s too 
to be filled.” 

“ I will fill it for you directly — there — that is done ; 
and now I will carry them both for you to the end of 
the grove, if you will promise me to return soon, for I 
have many things to ask you.” 


THE SISTERS. 


170 


Go on — only go on,” said the girl ; I know very 
little; but ask away, though you will not find much to 
be made of any answers that I can give.” 

“ Oh ! yes, indeed, I shall — for instance^ if I asked 
you to tell me all about your parents. My friend Pub- 
lius, whom you know, and I also have heard how cruelly 
and unjustly they were punished, and we would gladly 
do much to procure their release.” 

‘‘ I will come — I will be sure to come,” cried Irene 
loudly and eagerly, and shall I bring Klea with me ? 
She was called up in the middle of the night by the gate- 
keeper, whose child is very ill. My sister is very fond 
of it, and Pliilo will only take his medicine from her. 
The little one had gone to sleep in her lap, and his 
mother came and begged me to fetch the water for us 
both. Now give me the jars, for none but we may 
enter the temple.” 

There they are. Do not disturb your sister on my 
account in her care of the poor little boy, for I might 
indeed have one or two things to say to you which 
she need not hear, and which might give you pleasure. 
Now, I am going back to the well, so farewell! But do 
not let me have to wait very long for you.” He spoke 
in a tender tone of entreaty, and the girl answered low 
and rapidly as she hurried away from him : 

I 'Vill come when the sun is up.” 

The Corinthian looked after her till she had vanished 
within the temple, and his heart was stirred — stirred as 
it had not been for many years. He could not help re- 
calling the time when he would teaze his younger sister, 
then still quite a child, putting her to the test by asking 
her, with a perfectly grave face, to give him her cake 
or her apple which he did not really want at all. The 


THE SISTERS. 


lyr 

little one had almost always put the thing he asked for 
to his mouth with her tiny hands, and then he had often 
felt exactly as he felt now. 

Irene too was still but a child, and no less guileless 
than his darling in his own home; and just as his sister 
had trusted him — offering him the best she had to 
give — so this simple child trusted him; him, the profli- 
gate Lysias, before whom all the modest women of 
Corinth cast down their eyes, while fathers warned their 
growing-up sons against him; trusted him with her vir- 
gin self — nay, as he thought, her sacred person. 

will do thee no harm, sweet child!” he murmured 
to himself, as he presently turned on his heel to return 
to the well. He went forward quickly at first, but after 
a few steps he paused before the marvellous and glori- 
ous picture that met his gaze. Was Memphis in flames? 
Had fire fallen to burn up the shroud of mist which had 
veiled his way to the temple ? 

The trunks of the acacia-trees stood up like the 
blackened pillars of a burning city, and behind them the 
glow of a conflagration blazed high up to the heavens. 
Beams of violet and gold slipped and sparkled between 
the boughs, and danced among the thorny twigs, the 
white racemes of flowers, and the tufts of leaves with 
their feathery leaflets; the clouds above were fired with 
tints more pure and tender than those of the roses with 
which Cleopatra had decked herself for the banquet. 

Not like this did the sun rise in his own country! 
Or, was it perhaps only that in Corinth or in Athens at 
break of day, as he staggered home drunk from some 
feast, he had looked more at the earth than at the 
heavens ? 

His horses began now to neigh loudly as if to greet 


THE SISTERS. 


172 

the steeds of the coming Sun-god. Lysias hurried to 
them through the grove, patted their shining necks with 
soothing words, and stood looking down at the vast 
city at his feet, over which hung a film of violet mist — 
at the solemn Pyramids, over which the morning glow 
flung a gay robe of rose-color — on the huge temple of 
Ptah, with the great colossi in front of its pylons — on 
the Nile, mirroring the glory of the sky, and on the 
limestone hills behind the villages of Babylon and Troy, 
about which he had, only yesterday, heard a Jew at the 
king’s table relating a legend current among his country- 
men to the effect that these hills had been obliged to 
give up all their verdure to grace the mounts of the 
sacred city Hierosolyma. 

The rocky cliffs of this barren range glowed at this 
moment like the fire in the heart of the great ruby which 
had clasped the festal robe of King Euergetes across his 
bull-neck, as it reflected the shimmer of the tapers: and 
Lysias saw the day-star rising behind the range with 
blinding radiance, shooting forth rays like myriads of 
golden arrows, to rout and destroy his foe, the darkness 
of night. 

Eos, Helios, Phoebus Apollo — these had long been 
to him no more than names, with which he associated 
certain phenomena, certain processes and ideas ; for he — 
when he was not luxuriating in the bath, amusing him- 
self in the gymnasium, at cock or quail-fights, in the 
theatre or at Dionysiac processions — was wont to exer- 
cise his wits in the schools of the philosophers, so as to 
be able to shine in bandying words at entertainments; 
but to-day, and face to face with this sunrise, he be- 
lieved as in the days of his childhood — he saw in his 
mind’s eye the god riding in his golden chariot, and 


THE SISTERS. 


175 


curbing his foaming steeds, his shining train floating 
lightly round him, bearing torches or scattering flow- 
ers — he threw up his arms with an impulse of devotion, 
praying aloud : 

To-day I am happy and light of heart. To thy 
presence do I owe this, O ! Phoebus Apollo, for thou 
art light itself. Oh ! let thy favors continue — ” 

But he here broke off in his invocation, and dropped 
his arms, for he heard approaching footsteps. Smiling 
at his childish weakness — for such he deemed it that he 
should have prayed — and yet content from his pious 
impulse, he turned his back on the sun, now quite risen, 
and stood face to face with Irene who called out to him: 

I was beginning to think that you had got out of 
patience and had gone away, when I found you no 
longer by the well. That distressed me — but you were 
only watching Helios rise. I see it every day, and yet 
it always grieves me to see it as red as it was to-day, 
for our Egyptian nurse used to tell me that when the 
east was very red in the morning it was because the 
Sun-god had slain his enemies, and it was their blood 
that colored the heavens, and the clouds and the hills.’' 

‘^But you are a Greek,” said Lysias, ‘‘and you must 
know that it is Eos that causes these tints when she 
touches the horizon with her rosy fingers before Helios 
appears. Now to-day you are, to me, the rosy dawn 
presaging a fine day.” 

“ Such a ruddy glow as this,” said Irene, “ forebodes 
great heat, storms, and perhaps heavy rain, so the gate- 
keeper says; and he is always with the astrologers who 
observe the stars and the signs in the heavens from the 
towers near the temple-gates. He is poor little Philo’s 
father. I wanted to bring Klea with me, for she knows 


174 


THE SISTERS. 


more about our parents than I do; but he begged me 
not to call her away, for the child’s throat is almost 
closed up, and if it cries much the physician says it will 
choke, and yet it is never quiet but when it is lying in 
Klea’s arms. She is so good — and she never thinks of 
herself; she has been ever since midnight till now rock- 
ing that heavy child on her lap.” 

‘‘We will talk with her presently,” said the Corin- 
thian. “But to-day it was for your sake that I came; 
you have such merry eyes, and your little mouth looks 
as if it were made for laughing, and not to sing lamen- 
tations. How can you bear being always in that shut 
up dungeon with all those solemn men in their black 
and white robes ? ” 

“There are some very good and kind ones among 
them. I am most fond of old Krates, he looks gloomy 
enough at every one else; but with me only he jokes 
and talks, and he often shows me such pretty and ele- 
gantly wrought things.” 

“Ah! I told you just now you are like the rosy 
dawn before whom all darkness must vanish.” 

“ If only you could know how thoughtless I can be, 
and how often I give trouble to Klea, who never scolds 
me for it, you would be far from comparing me with a 
goddess. Little old Krates, too, often compares me to 
all sorts of pretty things, but that always sounds so 
comical that I cannot help laughing. I had much rather 
listen to you when you flatter me.” 

“ Because I am young and youth suits with youth. 
Your sister is older, and so much graver than you are. 
Have you never had a companion of your own age 
whom you could play with, and to whom you could tell 
everything?” 


THE SISTERS. 


175 


“Oh! yes when I was still very young; but since my 
parents fell into trouble, and we have lived here in the 
temple, I have always been alone with Klea. What do 
you want to know about my father?’^ 

“That I will ask you by-and-by. Now only tell me, 
have you never played at hide and seek with other 
girls ? May you never look on at the merry doings in 
the sffeets at the Dionysiac festivals? Have you ever 
ridden in a chariot?” 

“ I dare say I have, long ago — but I have forgotten 
it. How should I have any chance of such things here 
in the temple ? Klea says it is no good even to think 
of them. She tells me a great deal about our parents — 
how my mother took care of us, and what my father 
used to say. Has anything happened that may turn 
out favorably for him? Is it possible that the king 
should have learned the truth? Make haste and ask 
your questions at once, for I have already been too long 
out here.” 

The impatient steeds neighed again as she spoke, 
and Lysias, to whom this chat with Irene was perfectly 
enchanting, but who nevertheless had not for a moment 
lost sight of his object, hastily pointed to the spot where 
his horses were standing, and said: 

“Did you hear the neighing of those mettlesome 
horses ? They brought me hither, and I can guide them 
well; nay, at the last Isthmian games I won the crown 
with my own quadriga. You said you had never ridden 
standing in a chariot. How would you like to try for 
once how it feels? I will drive you with pleasure up 
and down behind the grove for a little while.” 

Irene heard this proposal with sparkling eyes and 
cried, as she clapped her hands : 


THE SISTERS. 


176 


May I ride in a chariot with spirited horses, like 
the queen? Oh! impossible! Where are your horses 
standing 

In this instant she had forgotten Klea, the duty 
which called her back to the temple, even her parents, 
and she followed the Corinthian with winged steps, 
sprang into the two-wheeled chariot, and clung fast to 
the breastwork, as Lysias took his place by her side, 
seized the reins, and with a strong and practised hand 
curbed the mettle of his spirited steeds. 

She stood perfectly guileless and undoubting by his 
side, and wholly at his mercy as the chariot rattled off; 
but, unknown to herself, beneficent powers were shield- 
ing her with buckler and armor — her childlike inno- 
cence, and that memory of her parents which her 
tempter himself had revived in her mind, and which 
soon came back in vivid strength. 

Breathing deep with excitement, and filled with such 
rapture as a bird may feel when it first soars from its 
narrow nest high up into the ether she cried out again 
and again ; 

Oh, this is delightful ! this is splendid ! ” and 
then — 

How we rush through the air as if we were swal- 
lows ! Faster, Lysias, faster! No, no — that is too fast; 
wait a^-little that I may not fall ! Oh, I am not fright- 
ened ; it is too delightful to cut through the air just as 
a Nile boat cuts through the stream in a storm, and to 
feel it on my face and neck.” 

Lysias was very close to her ; when, at her desire, he 
urged his horses to their utmost pace, and saw her sway, 
he involuntarily put out his hand to hold her by the gir- 
dle ; but Irene avoided his grasp, pressing close against 


THE SISTERS. 


177 


the side of the chariot next her, and every time he 
touched her she drew her arm close up to her 
body, shrinking together like the fragile leaf of a 
sensitive plant when it is touched by some foreign 
object. 

She now begged the Corinthian to allow her to hold 
the reins for a little while, and he immediately acceded 
to her request, giving them into her hand, though, 
stepping behind her, he carefully kept the ends of them 
in his own. He could now see her shining hair, the 
graceful oval of her head, and her white throat eagerly 
bent forward ; an indescribable longing came over him 
to press a kiss on her head ; but he forbore, for he re- 
membered his friend’s words that he would fulfil the 
part of a guardian to these girls. He too would be a 
protector to her, aye and more than that, he would care 
for her as a father might. Still, as often as the chariot 
jolted over a stone, and he touched her to support her, 
the suppressed wish revived, and once when her hair was 
blown quite close to his lips he did indeed kiss it — but 
only as a friend or a brother might. Still, she must have 
felt the breath from his lips, for she turned round hastily, 
and gave him back the reins; then, pressing her hand to 
her brow, she said in a quite altered voice — not unmixed 
with a faint tone of regret : 

This is not right — please now to turn the horses 
round.” 

Lysias, instead of obeying her, pulled at the reins to 
urge the horses to a swifter pace, and before he could 
find a suitable answer, she had glanced up at the sun, 
and pointing to the east she exclaimed : 

How late it is already ! what shall I say if I have 
been looked for, and they ask me where I have been so 


12 


THE SISTERS. 


178 

long ? Why don’t you turn round — nor ask me any- 
thing about my parents ? ” 

The last words broke from her with vehemence, and 
as Lysias did not immediately reply nor make any at- 
tempt to check the pace of the horses, she herself seized 
the reins exclaiming : 

‘‘Will you turn round or no ?” 

“ No ! ” said the Greek with decision. “ But — ” 

“ And this is what you intended ! ” shrieked the girl, 
beside herself. “You meant to carry me off by strata- 
gem — but wait, only wait — ” 

And before Lysias could prevent her she had turned 
round, and was preparing to spring from the chariot as 
it rushed onwards ; but her companion was quicker than 
she ; he clutched first at her robe and then her girdle, 
put his arm round her waist, and in spite of her resist- 
ance pulled her back into the chariot. 

Trembling, stamping her little feet and with tears in 
her eyes, she strove to free her girdle from his grasp ; he, 
now bringing his horses to a stand-still, said kindly but 
earnestly : 

“ What I have done is the best that could happen to 
you, and I will even turn the horses back again if you 
command it, but not till you have heard me ; for when 
I got-^u into the chariot by stratagem it was because I 
was afraid that you would refuse to accompany me, and 
yet I knew that every delay would expose you to the 
most hideous peril. I did not indeed take a base ad- 
vantage of your father’s name, for my friend Publius 
Scipio, who is very influential, intends to do everything 
in his power to procure his freedom and to reunite you 
to him. But, Irene, that could never have happened if 
I had left you where you have hitherto lived.” 


THE SISTERS. 


179 

During this discourse the girl had looked at Lysias 
in bewilderment, and she interrupted him with the ex- 
clamation : 

‘‘But I have never done any one an injury! Who 
can gain any benefit by persecuting a poor creature like 
me ! ” 

“ Your father was the most righteous of men,’^ re- 
plied Lysias, “ and nevertheless he was carried ofi* into 
torments like a criminal. It is not only the unrighteous 
and the wicked that are persecuted. Have you ever 
heard of King Euergetes, who, at his birth, was named 
the ‘well-doer,’ and who has earned that of the ‘evil- 
doer ’ by his crimes ? He has heard that you are fair, 
and he is about to demand of the high-priest that he 
should surrender you to him. If Asclepiodorus agrees 
— and what can he do against the might of a king — you 
will be made the companion of flute-playing girls and 
painted women, who riot with drunken men at his 
wild carousals and orgies, and if your parents found you 
thus, better would it be for them — ” 

“ Is it true, all you are telling me ? ” asked Irene 
with flaming cheeks. 

“Yes,” answered Lysias firmly. “Listen Irene — I 
have a father and a dear mother and a sister, who is like 
you, and I swear to you by their heads — by those whose 
names never passed my lips in the presence of any other 
woman I ever sued to — that I am speaking the simple 
truth ; that I seek nothing but only to save you ; that 
if you desire it, as soon as I have hidden you I will 
never see you again, terribly hard as that would be to 
me — for I love you so dearly, so deeply — poor sweet 
little Irene — as you can never imagine.” 

Lysias took the girl’s hand, but she withdrew it 


l8o THE SISTERS. 

hastily, and raising her eyes, full of tears, to meet his 
she said clearly and firmly: 

‘‘I believe you, for no man could speak like that 
and betray another. But how do you know all this? 
Where are you taking me? Will Klea follow me?’* 

‘‘At first you shall be concealed with the family of 
a worthy sculptor. We will let Klea know this very day 
of all that has happened to you, and when we have ob- 
tained the release of your parents then — but — Help us, 
protecting Zeus! Do you see the chariot yonder? I 
believe those are the white horses of the Eunuch Eu- 
laeus, and if he were to see us here, all would be lost! 
Hold tight, we must go as fast as in a chariot race. — 
There, now the hill hides us, and down there, by the 
little temple of Isis, the wife of your future host is 
already waiting for you; she is no doubt sitting in the 
closed chariot near the palm-trees. 

“Yes, certainly, certainly, Klea shall hear all, so 
that she may not be uneasy about you! I must say 
farewell to you directly and then, afterwards, sweet 
Irene, will you sometimes think of the unhappy Lysias; 
or did Aurora, who greeted him this morning, so bright 
and full of happy promise, usher in a day not of joy but 
of sorrow and regret?” The Greek drew in rein as he 
spoke^ringing his horses to a sober pace, and looked 
tenderly in Irene’s eyes. She returned his gaze with 
heart-felt emotion, but her sunny glance was dimmed 
with tears. 

“Say something,” entreated the Greek. “Will you 
not forget me? And may I soon visit you in your 
new retreat?” 

Irene would so gladly have said yes — and yes 
again, a thousand times yes; and yet she, who was so 


THE SISTERS. 


i8i 


easily carried away by every little emotion of her heart, 
in this supreme moment found strength enough to 
snatch her hand from that of the Greek, who had again 
taken it, and to answer firmly : 

‘‘I will remember you for ever and ever, but you 
must not come to see me till I am once more united to 
my Klea.’’ 

^‘But Irene, consider, if now — ” cried Lysias much 
agitated. 

‘‘You swore to me by the heads of your nearest kin 
to obey my wishes,” interrupted the girl. “ Certainly I 
trust you, and all the more readily because you are so 
good to me, but I shall not do so any more if you do 
not keep your word. Look, here comes a lady to meet 
us who looks like a friend. She is already waving her 
hand to me. Yes, I will go with her gladly, and yet I 
am so anxious — so troubled, I cannot tell you — ^but I 
am so thankful too! Think of me sometimes, Lysias, 
and of our journey here, and of our talk, and of my 
parents. I entreat you, do for them all you possibly 
can. I wish I could help crying — ^but I cannot ! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

Lysias’ eyes had not deceived him. The chariot 
with white horses which he had evaded during his flight 
with Irene belonged to Eulaeus. The morning being 
cool — and also because Cleopatra’s lady-in-waiting was 
with him — he had come out in a closed chariot, in 
which he sat on soft cushions side by side with the 


i 82 


THE SISTERS. 


Macedonian lady, endeavoring to win her good graces 
by a conversation, witty enough in its way. 

On the way there,” thought he, ‘‘ I will make her 
quite favorable to me, and on the way back I will talk 
to her of my own affairs.” 

The drive passed quickly and pleasantly for both, 
and they neither of them paid any heed to the sound 
of the hoofs of the horses that were bearing away Irene. 

Eulaeus dismounted behind the acacia-grove, and 
expressed a hope that Zoe would not find the time very 
long while he w^as engaged with the high-priest; per- 
haps indeed, he remarked, she might even make some 
use of the time by making advances to the representa- 
tive of Hebe. 

But Irene had been long since warmly welcomed in 
the house of Apollodorus, the sculptor, by the time they 
once more found themselves together in the chariot; 
Eulaeus feigning, and Zoe in reality feeling, extreme dis- 
satisfaction at all that had taken place in the temple. 
The high-priest had rejected Philometor’s demand that 
he should send the water-bearer to the palace on King 
Euergetes’ birthday, with a decisiveness which Eulaeus 
would never have given him credit for, for he had on 
former occasions shown a disposition to measures of 
comprqipise; while Zoe had not even seen the water- 
bearer. 

‘‘ I fancy,” said the queen’s shrewd friend, that I 
followed you somewhat too late, and that when I en- 
tered the temple about half an hour after you — having 
been detained first by Imhotep, the old physician, 
and then by an assistant of Apollodorus, the sculptor, 
with some new busts of the philosophers — the high- 
priest had already given orders that the girl should be 


THE SISTERS. 


1^3 

kept concealed; for when I asked to see her, I was 
conducted first to her miserable room, which seemed 
more fit for peasants or goats than for a Hebe, even for 
a sham one — but 1 found it perfectly deserted. 

‘^Then I was shown into the temple of Serapis, 
where a priest was instructing some girls in singing, and 
then sent hither and thither, till at last, finding no trace 
whatever of the famous Irene, I came to the dwelling- 
house of the gate-keeper of the temple. 

‘‘ An ungainly woman opened the door, and said that 
Irene had been gone from thence for some long time, 
but that her elder sister was there, so I desired she 
might be fetched to speak with me. And what, if you 
please, was the answer I received ? The goddess Klea 
— I call her so as being sister to a Hebe — had to nurse 
a sick child, and if I wanted to see her I might go in 
and find her. 

‘^The tone of the message quite conveyed that the 
distance from her down to me was as great as in fact it 
is the other way. However, I thought it worth the 
trouble to see this supercilious water-bearing girl, and 
I went into a low room — it makes me sick now to 
remember how it smelt of poverty — and there she sat 
with an idiotic child, dying on her lap. Everything that 
surrounded me was so revolting and dismal that it will 
haunt my dreams with terror for weeks to come and 
spoil all my cheerful hours. 

I did not remain long with these wretched crea- 
tures, but I must confess that if Irene is as like to Hebe 
as her elder sister is to Hera, Euergetes has good 
grounds for being angry if Asclepiodorus keeps the girl 
from him. 

‘‘ Many a queen — and not least the one whom you 


184 


THE SISTERS. 


and I know so intimately — would willingly give half of 
her kingdom to possess such a figure and such a mien 
as this serving-girl. And then her eyes, as she looked 
at me when she rose with that little gasping corpse in 
her arms, and asked me what I wanted with her sister! 

“There was an impressive and lurid glow in those 
solemn eyes, wdiich looked as if they had been taken 
out of some Medusa's head to be set in her beautiful 
face. And there was a sinister threat in them too which 
seemed to say : ' Require nothing of her that I do not 
approve of, or you will be turned into stone on the 
spot.’ She did not answer twenty words to my ques- 
tions, and when I once more tasted the fresh air outside, 
which never seemed to me so pleasant as by contrast 
with that horrible hole, I had learnt no more than that 
no one knew — or chose to know — in what corner the 
fair Irene was hidden, and that I should do well to 
make no further enquiries. 

“And now, what will Philometor do? What will 
you advise him to do ?” 

“What cannot be got at by soft words may some- 
times be obtained by a sufficiently large present,” re- 
plied Eulaeus. “You know very well that of all words 
none is less familiar to these gentry than the little word 
‘enough’; but who indeed is really ready to say it? 

“You^peak of the haughtiness and the stem repel- 
lent demeanor of our Hebe’s sister. I have seen her 
too, and I think that her image might be set up in the 
Stoa as a happy impersonation of the severest virtue: 
and yet children generally resemble their parents, and 
her father was the veriest peculator and the most cun- 
ning rascal that ever came in my way, and was sent off 
to the gold-mines for very sufficient reasons. And for 


THE SISTERS. 


the sake of the daughter of a convicted criminal you 
have been driven through the dust and the scorching 
heat, and have had to submit to her scorn and contempt- 
uous airs, while I am threatened with grave peril on 
her account, for you know that Cleopatra’s latest whim 
is to do honor to the Roman, Publius Scipio; he, on 
the other hand, is running after our Hebe, and, having 
jDromised her that he will obtain an unqualified pardon 
for her father, he will do his utmost to throw the odium 
of his robbery upon me. 

“The queen is to give him audience this very day, 
and you cannot know how many enemies a man makes 
who, like me, has for many years been one of the lead- 
ing men of a great state. The king acknowledges, and 
with gratitude, all that I have done for him and for his 
mother; but if, at the moment when Publius Scipio 
accuses me, he is more in favor with her than ever, I 
am a lost man. 

“You are always with the queen; do you tell her 
who these girls are, and what motives the Roman has 
for loading me with their father’s crimes; and some 
opportunity must offer for doing you and your belong- 
ings some friendly office or another.” 

“What a shameless crew!” exclaimed Zoe. “De- 
pend upon it I will not be silent, for I always do what 
is just. I cannot bear seeing others suffering an injus- 
tice, and least of all that a man of your merit and dis- 
tinction should be wounded in his honor, because a 
haughty foreigner takes a fancy to a pretty little face 
and a conceited doll of a girl.” 

Zoe was in the right when she found the air stifling 
in the gate-keeper’s house, for poor Irene, unaccus- 
tomed to such an atmosphere, could no more endure it 


i86 


THE SISTERS. 


than the pretentious maid of honor. It cost even Klea 
an effort to remain in the wretched room, which served 
as the dwelling-place of the whole family; where the 
cooking was carried on at a smoky hearth, while, at 
night, it also sheltered a goat and a few fowls; but she 
had endured even severer trials than this for the sake 
of what she deemed right, and she was so fond of little 
Philo — ^her anxious care in arousing by degrees his 
slumbering intelligence had brought her so much sooth- 
ing satisfaction, and the child’s innocent gratitude had 
been so tender a reward — that she wholly forgot the 
repulsive surroundings as soon as she felt that her pres- 
ence and care were indispensable to the suffering little 
one. ^ 

Imhotep, the most famous of the priest-physicians 
of the temple of Asclepius — a man who was as learned 
in Greek as in Egyptian medical lore, and who had 
been known by the name of ‘‘the modern Herophilus” 
since King Philometor had summoned him from Alex- 
andria to Memphis — had long since been watchful of 
the gradual development of the dormant intelligence of 
the gate-keeper’s child, whom he saw every day in his 
visits to the temple. Now, not long after Zoe had 
quitted the house, he came in to see the sick child for 
the third time. Klea was still holding the boy on her 
lap when he entered. On a wooden stool in front of 
her stood a brazier of charcoal, and on it a small cop- 
per kettle the physician had brought with him; to this 
a long tube was attached. The tube was in two parts, 
joined together by a leather joint, also tubular, in such 
a way that the upper portion could be turned in any 
direction. Klea from time to time applied it to the 
breast of the child, and, in obedience to Imhotep’s in- 


THE SISTERS. 1 87 

structions, made the little one inhale the steam that 
poured out of it. 

‘‘Has it had the soothing effect it ought to have?’^ 
asked the physician. 

“Yes, indeed, I think so,’' replied Klea, “There 
is not so much noise in the chest when the poor little 
fellow draws his breath.” 

The old man put his ear to the child’s mouth, laid 
his hand on his brow, and said: 

“ If the fever abates I hope for the best. This in- 
haling of steam is an excellent remedy for these severe 
catarrhs, and a venerable one besides; for in the oldest 
writings of Hermes we find it prescribed as an applica- 
tion in such cases. But now he has had enough of it. 

“Ah! this steam — this steam! Do you know that 
it is stronger than horses or oxen, or the united strength 
of a whole army of giants? That diligent enquirer 
Hero of Alexandria discovered this lately. 

“But our little invalid has had enough of it, we 
must not overheat him. Now, take a linen cloth — that 
one will do though it is not very fine. Fold it together, 
wet it nicely with cold water — there is some in that 
miserable potsherd there — and now I will show you 
how to lay it on the child’s throat. 

“You need not assure me that you understand me, 
Klea, for you have hands — neat hands — and patience 
without end! Sixty-five years have I lived, and have 
always had good health, but I could almost wish to be 
ill for once, in order to be nursed by you. That poor 
child is well off — better than many a king’s child when 
it is sick; for him hireling nurses, no doubt, fetch and 
do all that is necessary, but one thing they cannot give, 
for they have it not; I mean the loving and indefati- 


THE SISTERS. 


1 88 

gable patience by which you have worked a miracle on 
this child’s mind, and are now working another on his 
body. Aye, aye, my girl; it is to you and not me that 
this woman will owe her child if it is preserved to her. 
Do you hear me, woman ? and tell your husband so 
too; and if you do not reverence Klea as a goddess, 
and do not lay your hands beneath her feet, may you 
be — no — I will wish you no ill, for you have not too 
much of the good things of life as it is!” 

As he spoke the gate-keeper’s wife came timidly up 
to the physician and the sick child, pushed her rough 
and tangled hair off her forehead a little, crossed her 
lean arms at full length behind her back, and, looking 
down with out-stretched neck at the boy, stared in dumb 
amazement at the wet cloths. Then she timidly en- 
quired : 

‘‘Are the evil spirits driven out of the child?” 

“Certainly,” replied the physician. “Klea there 
has exorcised them, and I have helped her; now you 
know.” 

“Then I may go out for a little while? I have to 
sweep the pavement of the forecourt.” 

Klea nodded assent, and when the woman had dis- 
appeared the physician said: 

“ many evil demons we have to deal with, alas! 
and how few good ones. Men are far more ready and 
willing to believe in mischievous spirits than in kind or 
helpful ones; for when things go ill with them — and it 
is generally their own fault when they do — it comforts 
them and flatters their vanity if only they can throw 
the blame on the shoulders of evil spirits; but when 
they are well to do, when fortune smiles on them or 
something important has proved successful, then, of 


THE SISTERS. 


189 


course, they like to ascribe it to themselves, to their 
own cleverness or their superior insight, and they laugh 
at those who admonish them of the gratitude they owe 
to the protecting and aiding demons. I, for my part, 
think more of the good than of the evil spirits, and you, 
my child, without doubt are one of the very best. 

‘‘You must change the compress every quarter of 
an hour, and between whiles go out into the open air, 
and let the fresh breezes fan your bosom — your cheeks 
look pale. At mid-day go to your own little room, and 
try to sleep. Nothing ought to be overdone, so you 
are to obey me.” 

Klea replied with a friendly and filial nod, and Im- 
hotep stroked down her hair; then he left; she remained 
alone in the stuffy hot room, which grew hotter every 
minute, while she changed the wet cloths for the sick 
child, and watched with delight the diminishing hoarse- 
ness and difficulty of his breathing. From time to time 
she was overcome by a slight drowsiness, and closed 
her eyes for a few minutes, but only for a short while; 
and this half-awake and half-asleep condition, chequered 
by fleeting dreams, and broken only by an easy and 
pleasing duty, this relaxation of the tension of mind and 
body, had a certain charm of which, through it all, she 
remained perfectly conscious. Here she was in her right 
place; the physicians kind words had done her good, 
and her anxiety for the little life she loved was now 
succeeded by a well-founded hope of its preserva- 
tion. 

During the night she had already come to a definite 
resolution, to explain to the high-priest that she could 
not undertake the office of the twin-sisters, who wept 
by the bier of Osiris, and that she would rather en- 


190 


THE SISTERS. 


deavor to earn bread by the labor of her hands for her- 
self and Irene — for that Irene should do any real work 
never entered her mind — at Alexandria, where even the 
blind and the maimed could find occupation. Even 
this prospect, which only yesterday had terrified her, 
began now to smile upon her, for it opened to her the 
possibility of proving independently the strong energy 
which she felt in herself. 

Now and then the figure of the Roman rose before 
her mind’s eye, and every time that this occurred she 
colored to her very forehead. But to-day she thought 
of this disturber of her peace differently from yesterday ; 
for yesterday she had felt herself overwhelmed by him 
with shame, while to-day it appeared to her as though 
she had triumphed over him at the procession, since 
she had steadily avoided his glance, and when he had 
dared to approach her she had resolutely turned her 
back upon him. This was well, for how could the 
proud foreigner expose himself again to such humili- 
ation. 

Away, away — for ever away ! ” she murmured to 
herself, and her eyes and brow, which had been lighted 
up by a transient smile, once more assumed the expres- 
sion of repellent sternness which, the day before, had so 
startled and angered the Roman. Soon however the 
severit)^ of her features relaxed, as she saw in fancy the 
young man’s beseeching look, and remembered the 
praise given him by the recluse, and as — in the middle 
of this train of thought — her eyes closed again, slumber 
once more falling upon her spirit for a few minutes, she 
saw in her dream Publius himself, who approached her 
with a firm step, took her in his arms like a child, held 
her wrists to stop her struggling hands, gathered her up 


THE SISTERS. 


19I 

with rough force, and then flung her into a canoe lying 
at anchor by the bank of the Nile. 

She fought with all her jnight against this attack and 
seizure, screamed aloud with fury, and woke at the 
sound of her own voice. Then she got up, dried her 
eyes that were wet with tears, and, after laying a freshly 
wetted cloth on the child’s throat, she went out of doors 
in obedience to the physician’s advice. 

The sun was already at the meridian, and its direct 
rays were fiercely reflected from the slabs of yellow 
sandstone that paved the forecourt. On one side only 
of the wide, unroofed space, one of the colonnades that 
surrounded it threw a narrow shade, hardly a span wide; 
and she would not go there, for under it stood several 
beds on which lay pilgrims who, here in the very dwell- 
ing of the divinity, hoped to be visited with dreams 
which might give them an insight into futurity. 

Klea’s head was uncovered, and, fearing the heat 
of noon, she was about to return into the door-keeper’s 
house, when she saw a young white-robed scribe, em- 
ployed in the special service of Asclepiodorus, who came 
across the court beckoning eagerly to her. She went 
towards him, but before he had reached her he shouted 
out an enquiry whether her sister Irene was in the gate- 
keeper’s lodge; the high-priest desired to speak with 
her, and she was nowhere to be found. Klea told him 
that a grand lady from the queen’s court had already en- 
quired for her, and that the last time she had seen her 
had been before daybreak, when she was going to 
fill the jars for the altar of the god at the Well of the 
Sun. 

‘^The water for the first libation,” answered the 
priest, was placed on the altar at the right time, but 


192 


THE SISTERS. 


Doris and her sister had to fetch it for the second and 
third. Asclepiodorus is angry — not with you, for he 
knows from Imhotep that you are taking care of a sick 
child — ^but with Irene. Try and think where she can 
be. Something serious must have occurred that the 
high-priest washes to communicate to her.” 

Klea was startled, for she remembered Irene’s tears 
the evening before, and her cry of longing for happi- 
ness and freedom. Could it be that the thoughtless 
child had yielded to this longing, and escaped without 
her know^ledge, though only for a few hours, to see the 
city and the gay life there ? 

She collected herself so as not to betray her anxiety 
to the messenger, and said with downcast eyes ; 

I wall go and look for her.” 

She hurried back into the house, once more looked 
to the sick child, called his mother and showed her how 
to prepare the compresses, urging her to follow Imho- 
tep’s directions carefully and exactly till she should 
return; she pressed one loving kiss on little Philo’s 
forehead — feeling as she did so that he was less hot than 
he had been in the morning — and then she left, going 
first to her own dwelling. 

There everything stood or lay exactly as she had left 
it during the night, only the golden jars w^ere wanting. 
This increased Klea’s alarm, but the thought that Irene 
should have taken the precious vessels with her, in order 
to sell them and to live on the proceeds, never once en- 
tered her mind, for her sister, she knew, though heedless 
and easily persuaded, was incapable of any base action. 

Where was she to seek the lost girl ? Serapion, the 
recluse, to whom she first addressed herself, knew noth- 
ing of her. 


THE SISTERS. 


193 

On the altar of Serapis, whither she next went, she 
found both the vessels, and carried them back to her 
room. 

Perhaps Irene had gone to see old Krates, and 
while watching his work and chattering to him, had for- 
gotten the flight of time — but no, the priest-smith, whom 
she sought in his workshop, knew nothing of the van- 
ished maiden. He would willingly have helped Klea. 
to seek for his favorite, but the new lock for the tombs 
of the Apis had to be finished by mid-day, and his 
swollen feet were painful. 

Klea stood outside the old man’s door sunk in 
thought, and it occurred to her that Irene had often, in 
her idle hours, climbed up into the dove-cot belonging 
to the temple, to look out from thence over the distant 
landscape, to visit the sitting birds, to stuff food into 
the gaping beaks of the young ones, or to look up at 
the cloud of soaring doves. The pigeon-house, built up 
of clay pots and Nile-mud, stood on the top of the 
storehouse, which lay adjoining the southern boundary 
wall of the temple. 

She hastened across the sunny courts and slightly 
shaded alleys, and mounted to the flat roof of the store- 
house, but she found there neither the old dove-keeper 
nor his two grandsons who helped him in his work, for 
all three were in the anteroom to the kitchen, taking 
their dinner with the temple-servants. 

Klea shouted her sister’s name; once, twice, ten 
times — but no one answered. It was just as if the fierce 
heat of the sun burnt up the sound as it left her lips. 
She looked into the first pigeon-house, the second, 
the third, all the way to the last. The numberless little 
clay tenements of the brisk little birds threw out a glow 


13 


194 


THE SISTERS. 


like a heated oven ; but this did not hinder her from 
hunting through every nook and corner. Her cheeks 
were burning, drops of perspiration stood on her brow, 
and she had much difficulty in freeing herself from the 
dust of the pigeon-houses, still she was not discouraged. 

Perhaps Irene had gone into the Anubidium, or 
sanctuary of Asclepius, to enquire as to the meaning of 
some strange vision, for there, with the priestly physi- 
cians, lived also a priestess who could interpret the 
dreams of those who sought to be healed even better than 
a certain recluse who also could exercise that science. 
The enquirers often had to wait a long time outside the 
temple of Asclepius, and this consideration encouraged 
Klea, and made her insensible to the burning south- 
west wind which was now rising, and to the heat of the 
sun; still, as she returned to the Pastophorium— 
slowly, like a warrior returning from a defeat — she suf- 
fered severely from the heat, and her heart was wrung 
with anguish and suspense. 

Willingly would she have cried, and often heaved a 
groan that was more like a sob, but the solace of tears 
to relieve her heart was still denied to her. 

Before going to tell Asclepiodorus that her search 
had been unsuccessful, she felt prompted once more to 
talk with her friend, the anchorite; but before she had 
gonelar enough even to see his cell, the high-priest’s 
scribe once more stood in her way, and desired her to 
follow him to the temple. There she had to wait in 
mortal impatience for more than an hour in an ante- 
room. At last she was conducted into a room where 
Asclepiodorus was sitting with the whole chapter of the 
priesthood of the temple of Serapis. 

Klea entered timidly, and had to wait again some 


THE SISTERS. 


195 


minutes in the presence of the mighty conclave before 
the high-priest asked her whether she could give any 
information as to the whereabouts of the fugitive, and 
whether she had heard or observed anything that could 
guide them on her track, since he, Asclepiodorus, knew 
that if Irene had run away secretly from the temple she 
must be as anxious about her as he was. 

Klea had much difficulty in finding words, and her 
knees shook as she began to speak, but she refused the 
seat which was brought for her by order of Asclepio- 
dorus. She recounted in order all the places where she 
had in vain sought her sister, and when she mentioned 
the sanctuary of Asclepius, and a recollection came 
suddenly and vividly before her of the figure of a lady 
of distinction, who had come there with a number of 
slaves and waiting-maids to have a dream interpreted, 
Zoe’s visit to herself flashed upon her memory; her de- 
meanor — at first so over-friendly and then so supercil- 
ious — and her haughty enquiries for Irene. 

She broke off in her narrative, and exclaimed : 

“ I am sure, holy father, that Irene has not fled of 
her own free impulse, but some one perhaps may have 
lured her into quitting the temple and me; she is still 
but a child with a wavering mind. Could it possibly 
be that a lady of rank should have decoyed her into 
going with her? Such a person came to-day to see 
me at the door-keeper’s lodge. She was richly dressed 
and wore a gold crescent in her light wavy hair, which 
was plaited with a silk ribband, and she asked me ur- 
gently about my sister. Imhotep, the physician, who 
often visits at the king’s palace, saw her too, and told 
me her name is Zoe, and that she is lady-in-waiting to 
Queen Cleopatra.” 

13 * 


196 


THE SISTERS. 


These words occasioned the greatest excitement 
throughout the conclave of priests, and Asclepiodorus 
exclaimed : 

‘‘Oh! women, women! You indeed were right, 
Philammon; I could not and would not believe it! 
Cleopatra has done many things which are forgiven 
only in a queen, but that she should become the tool 
of her brother’s basest passions, even you, Philammon, 
could hardly regard as likely, though you are always 
prepared to expect evil rather than good. But now, 
what is to be done? How can we protect ourselves 
against violence and superior force ? ” 

Klea had appeared before the priests with cheeks 
crimson and glowing from the noontide heat, but at 
the high-priest’s last words the blood left her face, she 
turned ashy-pale, and a chill shiver ran through her 
trembling limbs. Her father’s child — her bright, inno- 
cent Irene — basely stolen for Euergetes, that licentious 
tyrant of whose wild deeds Serapion had told her only 
last evening, when he painted the dangers that would 
threaten her and Irene if they should quit the shelter of 
the sanctuary. 

Alas, it was too true! They had tempted away 
her darling child, her comfort and delight, lured her 
with -^lendor and ease, only to sink her in shame ! 
She was forced to cling to the back of the chair she had 
disdained, to save herself from falling. 

But this weakness overmastered her for a few min- 
utes only; she boldly took two hasty steps up to the 
table behind which the high-priest was sitting, and, sup- 
porting herself with her right hand upon it, she ex- 
claimed, while her voice, usually so full and sonorous, 
had a hoarse tone: 


THE SISTERS. 


197 


A woman has been the instrument of making an- 
other woman unworthy of the name of woman! and 
you — ^you, the protectors of right and virtue — you who 
are called to act according to the will and mind of the 
gods whom you serve — you are too weak to prevent it? 
If you endure this, if you do not put a stop to this crime 
you are not worthy — nay, I will not be interrupted — 
you, I say, are unworthy of the sacred title and of the 
reverence you claim, and I will appeal — ” 

‘‘ Silence, girl ! ” cried Asclepiodorus to the terribly 
excited Klea. I would have you imprisoned with the 
blasphemers, if I did not well understand the anguish 
which has turned your brain. We will interfere on be- 
half of the abducted girl, and you must wait patiently 
in silence. You, Callimachus, must at once order Is- 
mael, the messenger, to saddle the horses, and ride to 
Memphis to deliver a despatch from me to the queen; 
let us all combine to compose it, and subscribe our 
names as soon as we are perfectly certain that Irene 
has been carried off from these precincts. Philammon, 
do you command that the gong be sounded which calls 
together all the inhabitants of the temple ; and you, my 
girl, quit this hall, and join the others.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Klea obeyed the high-priest^s command at once, 
and wandered — ^not knowing exactly whither — from 
one corridor to another of the huge pile, till she was 
startled by the sound of the great brazen plate, struck 


198 


THE SISTERS. 


with mighty blows, which rang out to the remotest 
nook and corner of the precincts. This call was for her 
too, and she went forthwith into the great court of as- 
sembly, which at every moment grew fuller and fuller. 
The temple-servants and the keepers of the beasts, the 
gate-keepers, the litter-bearers, the water-carriers — all 
streamed in from their interrupted meal, some wiping 
their mouths as they hurried in, or still holding in their 
hands a piece of bread, a radish, or a date which they 
hastily munched; the washer-men and women came in 
with hands still wet from washing the white robes of the 
priests, and the cooks arrived with brows still streaming 
from their unfinished labors. Perfumes floated round 
from the unwashed hands of the pastophori, who had 
been busied in the laboratories in the preparation of in- 
cense, while from the library and writing-rooms came 
the curators and scribes and the officials of the temple 
counting-house, their hair in disorder, and their light 
working-dress stained with red or black. . The troop of 
singers, male and female, came in orderly array, just as 
they had been assembled for practice, and with them 
came the faded twins to whom Klea and Irene had 
been designated as successors by Asclepiodorus. Then 
came the pupils of the temple-school, tumbling noisily 
into the court-yard in high delight at this interruption 
to their lessons. The eldest of these were sent to iDring 
in the great canopy under which the heads of the estab- 
lishment might assemble. 

Last of all appeared Asclepiodorus, who handed to 
a young scribe a complete list of all the inhabitants and 
members of the temple, that he might read it out. This 
he proceeded to do; each one answered with an audible 
‘‘Here’^ as his name was called, and for each one who 


THE SISTERS. 


199 


was absent information was immediately given as to his 
whereabouts. 

Klea had joined the singing-women, and awaited 
in breathless anxiety a long — ^endlessly long — time for 
the name of her sister to be called; for it was not till 
the very smallest of the school-boys and the lowest of 
the neat-herds had answered, ‘‘Here,” that the scribe 
read out, “ Klea, the water-bearer,” and nodded to her 
in answer as she replied “Here!” 

Then his voice seemed louder than before as he read, 
“ Irene, the water-bearer.” 

No answer following on these words, a slight move- 
ment, like the bowing wave that flies over a ripe corn- 
field when the morning breeze sweeps across the ears, 
was evident among the assembled inhabitants of the 
temple, who waited in breathless silence till Asclepio- 
dorus stood forth, and said in a distinct and audible 
voice: 

“You have all met here now at my call. All have 
obeyed it excepting those holy men consecrated to 
Serapis, whose vows forbid their breaking their seclusion, 
and Irene, the water-bearer. Once more I call, ‘ Irene,' 
a second, and a third time — and still no answer; I now 
appeal to you all assembled here, great and small, men 
and women who serve Serapis. Can any one of you give 
any information as to the whereabouts of this young 
girl? Has any one seen her since, at break of day, she 
placed the first libation from the Well of the Sun on the 
altar of the god? You are all silent! Then no one 
has met her in the course of this day? Now, one ques- 
tion more, and whoever can answer it stand forth and 
speak the words of truth. 

“ By which gate did this lady of rank depart who 


200 


THE SISTERS. 


visited the temple early this morning? — By the eastern 
gate — good. 

‘‘Was she alone? — She was. 

“ By which gate did the epistolographer Eulaeus 
depart? — By the east. 

“Was he alone? — He was. 

“ Did any one here present meet the chariot either 
of the lady or of Eulaeus ?” 

“I did,” cried a car-driver, whose daily duty it was 
to go to Memphis with his oxen and cart to fetch pro- 
visions for the kitchen, and other necessaries. 

“Speak,” said the high-priest. 

“I saw,” replied the man, “the white horses of my 
Lord Eulaeus hard by the vineyard of Khakem ; I know 
them well. They were harnessed to a closed chariot, 
in which besides himself sat a lady.” 

“ Was it Irene ?” asked Asclepiodorus. 

“I do not know,” replied the carter, “for I could 
not see who sat in the chariot, but I heard the voice of 
Eulaeus, and then a woman’s laugh. She laughed so 
heartily that I had to screw my mouth up myself, it 
tickled me so.” 

While Klea supposed this description to apply to 
Irene’s merry laugh — which she had never thought of 
with regret till this moment — the high-priest exclaimed: 

“You, keeper of the eastern gate, did the lady and 
Eulaeus enter and leave this sanctuary together?” 

“No,” was the answer. “She came in half an hour 
later than he did, and she quitted the temple quite alone 
and long after the eunuch.” 

“And Irene did not pass through your gate, and 
cannot have gone out by it ? — I ask you in the name 
of the god we serve!” 


THE SISTERS. 


201 


^^She may have done so, holy father ” answered 
the gate-keeper in much alarm. I have a sick child, 
and to look after him I went into my room several 
times; but only for a few minutes at a time — still, the 
gate stands open, all is quiet in Memphis now.’' 

^‘You have done very wrong,” said Asclepiodorus 
severely, ‘^but since you have told the truth you may 
go unpunished. We have learned enough. All you 
gate-keepers now listen to me. Every gate of the tem- 
ple must be carefully shut, and no one — not even a pil- 
grim nor any dignitary from Memphis, however high a 
personage he may be — is to enter or go out without my 
express permission; be as alert as if you feared an at- 
tack, and now go each of you to his duties.” 

The assembly dispersed; these to one side, those to 
another. 

Klea did not perceive that many looked at her with 
suspicion as though she were responsible for her sister’s 
conduct, and others with compassion; she did not even 
notice the twin-sisters, whose place she and Irene were 
to have filled, and this hurt the feelings of the good 
elderly maidens, who had to perform so much lament- 
ing which they did not feel at all, that they eagerly 
seized every opportunity of expressing their feelings 
when, for once in a way, they were moved to sincere 
sorrow. But neither these sympathizing persons nor 
any other of the inhabitants of the temple, who ap- 
proached Klea with the purpose of questioning or of 
pitying her, dared to address her, so stern and terrible 
was the solemn expression of her eyes which she kept 
fixed upon the ground. 

At last she remained alone in the great court; her 
heart beat faster than usual, and strange and weighty 


202 


THE SISTERS. 


thoughts were stirring in her soul. One thing was clear 
to her: Eulaeus — her father’s ruthless foe and destroyer — 
was now also working the fall of the child of the man he 
had ruined, and, though she knew it not, the high-priest 
shared her suspicions. She, Klea, was by no means 
minded to ‘let this happen without an effort at defence, 
and it even became clearer and clearer to her mind that 
it was her duty to act, and without delay. In the first 
instance she would ask counsel of her friend Serapion ; 
but as she approached his cell the gong was sounded 
which summoned the priests to service, and at the same 
time warned her of her duty of fetching water. 

Mechanically, and still thinking of nothing but 
Irene’s deliverance, she fulfilled the task which she was 
accustomed to perform every day at the sound of this 
brazen clang, and went to her room to fetch the golden 
jars of the god. 

As she entered the empty room her cat sprang to 
meet her with two leaps of joy, putting up her back, 
rubbing her soft head against her feet with her fine 
bushy tail ringed with black stripes set up straight, as 
cats are wont only when they are pleased. Klea was 
about to stroke the coaxing animal, but it sprang back, 
stared at her shyly, and, as she could not help thinking, 
angrily^yith its green eyes, and then shrank back into 
the corner close to Irene’s couch. 

“She mistook me!” thought Klea. “Irene is more 
lovable than I even to a beast, and Irene, Irene — ” 

She sighed deeply at the name, and would have 
sunk down on her trunk there to consider of new ways 
and means — all of which how^ever she was forced to 
reject as foolish and impracticable— but on the chest 
lay a little shirt she had begun to make for little Philo, 


THE SISTERS. 


203 


and this reminded her again of the sick child and of the 
duty of fetching the water. 

Without further delay she took up the jars, and as 
she went towards the well she remembered the last pre- 
cepts that had been given her by her father, whom she 
had once been permitted to visit in prison. Only a 
few detached sentences of this, his last warning speech, 
now came into her mind, though no word of it had es- 
caped her memory; it ran much as follows: 

‘‘ It may seem as though I had met with an evil rec- 
ompense from the gods for my conduct in adhering to 
what I think just and virtuous; but it only seems so, 
and so long as I succeed in living in accordance with 
nature, which obeys an everlasting law, no man is justi- 
fied in accusing me. My own peace of mind especially 
will never desert me so long as I do not set myself to 
act in opposition to the fundamental convictions of my 
inmost being, but obey the doctrines of Zeno and Chry- 
sippus. This peace every one may preserve, aye, even 
you, a woman, if you constantly do what you recognize 
to be right, and fulfil the duties you take upon your- 
self The very god himself is proof and witness of this 
doctrine, for he grants to him who obeys him that tran- 
quillity of spirit which must be pleasing in his eyes, 
since it is the only condition of the soul in which it 
appears to be neither fettered and hindered nor tossed 
and driven; while he, on the contrary, who wanders 
from the paths of virtue and of her daughter, stern duty, 
never attains peace, but feels the torment of an unsatis- 
fied and hostile power, which with its hard grip drags 
his soul now on and now back. 

‘‘ He who preserves a tranquil mind is not miserable, 
even in misfortune, and thankfully learns to feel con- 


204 


THE SISTERS. 


tented in every state of life; and that because he is 
tilled with those elevated sentiments which are directly 
related to the noblest portion of his being — those, I 
mean — of justice and goodness. Act then, my child, 
in conformity with justice and duty, regardless of any 
ulterior object, without considering whether your action 
will bring you pleasure or pain, without fear of the 
judgment of men or the envy of the gods, and you will 
win that peace of mind which distinguishes the wise 
from the unwise, and may be happy even in adverse cir- 
cumstances ; for the only real evil is the dominion of 
wickedness, that is to say the unreason which rebels 
against nature, and the only true happiness consists in 
the possession of virtue. He alone, however, can call 
virtue his who possesses it wholly, and sins not against 
it in the smallest particular; for there is no difference 
of degrees either in good or in evil, and even the small- 
est action opposed to duty, truth or justice, though 
punishable by no law, is a sin, and stands in opposition 
to virtue. 

Irene,’’ thus Philotas had concluded his injunctions, 
‘^cannot as yet understand this doctrine, but you are 
grave and have sense beyond your years. Repeat this 
to her daily, and when the time comes impress on your 
sister — ^tO/Wards whom you must fill the place of a 
mother — impress on her heart these precepts as your 
father’s last will and testament.” 

And now, as Klea went towards the well within the 
temple-wall to fetch water, she repeated to herself many 
of these injunctions; she felt herself encouraged by 
them, and firmly resolved not to give her sister up to 
the seducer without a struggle. 

As soon as the vessels for libation at the altar were 


THE SISTERS. 


205 


filled she returned to little Philo, whose state seemed to 
her to give no further cause for anxiety; after staying 
with him for more than an hour she left the gate-keep« 
er’s dwelling to seek Serapion’s advice, and to divulge 
to him all she had been able to plan and consider in 
the quiet of the sick-room. 

The recluse was wont to recognize her step from 
afar, and to be looking out for her from his window 
when she went to visit him; but to-day he heard her 
not, for he was stepping again and again up and down 
the few paces which the small size of his tiny cell al- 
lowed him to traverse. He could reflect best when he 
walked up and down, and he thought and thought 
again, for he had heard all that was known in the tem- 
ple regarding Irene’s disappearance; and he would, he 
must rescue her — but the more he tormented his brain 
the more clearly he saw that evey attempt to snatch the 
kidnapped girl from the powerful robber must in fact 
be vain. 

‘‘And it must not, it shall not be!” he had cried, 
stamping his great foot, a few minutes before Klea 
reached his cell; but as soon as he was aware of her 
presence he made an effort to appear quite easy, and 
cried out with the vehemence which characterized him 
even in less momentous circumstances : 

“We must consider, we must reflect, we must puzzle 
our brains, for the gods have been napping this morn- 
ing, and we must be doubly wide-awake. Irene — our 
little Irene — and who would have thought it yesterday I 
It is a good-for-nothing, unspeakably base knave’s 
trick — and now, what can we do to snatch the prey 
from the gluttonous monster, the savage wild beast, 
before he can devour our child, our pet little one? 


2o6 


THE SISTERS. 


Often and often I have been provoked at my own stu- 
pidity, but never, never have I felt so stupid, such a god- 
forsaken blockhead as I do now. When I try to con- 
sider I feel as if that heavy shutter had been nailed 
down on my head. Have you had any ideas ? I have 
not one which would not disgrace the veriest ass — not 
a single one.” 

“Then you know everything? ” asked Klea, “ even 
that it is probably our father’s enemy, Eulaeus, who has 
treacherously decoyed the poor child to^o away with 
him ? ” 

“Yes, yes!” cried Serapion, “wherever there is 
some scoundrel’s trick to be played he must have a 
finger in the pie, as sure as there must be meal for bread 
to be made. But it is a new thing to me that on this 
occasion he should be Euergetes’ tool. Old Philam- 
mon told me all about it. Just now the messenger 
came back from Memphis, and brought a paltry scrap 
of papyrus on which some wretched scribbler had written 
in the name of Philometer, that nothing was known of 
Irene at court, and complaining deeply that Asclepio- 
dorus had not hesitated to play an underhand game with 
the king. So they have no idea whatever of voluntarily 
releasing our child.” 

“ Then I shall proceed to do my duty,” said Klea 
resolutely. “ I shall go to Memphis, and fetch my 
sister.” 

The anchorite stared at the girl in horror, exclaiming : 

“ That is folly, madness, suicide ! Do you want to 
throw two victims into his jaws instead of one ? ” 

“ I can protect myself, and as regards Irene, I will 
claim the queen’s assistance. She is a woman, and will 
never suffer — ” 


THE SISTERS. 


207 


What is there in this world that she will not suffer 
if it can procure her profit or pleasure ? Who knows 
what delightful thing Euergetes may not have promised 
her in return for our little maid ? No, by Serapis! — 
no, Cleopatra will not help you, but — and that is a good 
idea — there is one who will to a certainty. We must 
apply to the Roman Publius Scipio, and he will have 
no difficulty in succeeding.” 

From him,” exclaimed Klea, coloring scarlet, “ I 
will accept neither good nor evil ; I do not know him, 
and I do not want to know him.” 

“ Child, child ! ” interrupted the recluse with grave 
chiding. Does your pride then so far outweigh your 
love, your duty, and concern for Irene? What, in the 
name of all the gods, has Publius done to you that you 
avoid him more anxiously than if he were covered with 
leprosy ? There is a limit to all things, and now- — aye, 
indeed — I must out with it come what may, for this is 
not the time to pretend to be blind when I see with 
both eyes what is going on — your heart is full of the 
Roman, and draws you to him; but you are an honest 
girl, and, in order to remain so, you fly from him be- 
cause. you distrust yourself, and do not know what 
might happen if he were to tell you that he too has 
been hit by one of Eros’ darts. You may turn red and 
white, and look at me as if I were your enemy, and talk- 
ing contemptible nonsense. I have seen many strange 
things, but I never saw any one before you who was a 
coward out of sheer courage, and yet of all the women 
I know there is not one to whom fear is less known 
than my bold and resolute Klea. The road is a hard 
one that you must take, but only cover your poor little 
heart with a coat of mail, and venture in all confidence to 


2o8 


THE SISTERS. 


meet the Roman, who is an excellent good fellow. No 
doubt it will be hard to you to crave a boon, but ought 
you to shrink from those few steps over sharp stones ? 
Our poor child is standing on the edge of the abyss; if 
you do not arrive at the right time, and speak the right 
words to the only person who is able to help in this 
matter, she will be thrust into the foul bog and sink in 
it, because her brave sister was frightened at — herself!’^ 

Klea had cast down her eyes as the anchorite ad- 
dressed her thus; she stood for some time frowning at 
the ground in silence, but at last she said, with quiver- 
ing lips and as gloomily as if she were pronouncing a 
sentence on herself : 

Then I will ask the Roman to assist me; but how 
can I get to him ? ” 

“ Ah ! — now my Klea is her father’s daughter once 
more,” answered Serapion, stretching out both his 
arms towards her from the little window of his cell ; 
and then he went on : I can make the painful path 
somewhat smoother for you. My brother Glaucus, who 
is commander of the civic guard in the palace, you 
already know ; I will give you a few words of recom- 
mendation to him, and also, to lighten your task, a little 
letter to Publius Scipio, which shall contain a short ac- 
counG^f the matter in hand. If Publius wishes to speak 
with you yourself go to him and trust him, but still 
more trust yourself. 

“ Now go, and when you have once more filled the 
water-jars come back to me, and fetch the letters. The 
sooner you can go the better, for it would be well that 
you should leave the path through the desert behind 
you before nightfall, for in the dark there are often dan- 
gerous tramps about. You will find a friendly welcome 


THE SISTERS. 


209 

at my sister Leukippa^s ; she lives in the toll-house by 
the great harbor — show her this ring and she will give 
you a bed, and, if the gods are merciful^ one for Irene 
too,” 

Thank you, father,” said Klea, but she said na 
more, and then left him with a rapid step. 

Serapion looked lovingly after her; then he took 
two wooden tablets faced with wax out of his chesty 
and, with a metal style, he wrote on one a short letter 
to his brother, and on the other a longer one to the 
Roman, which ran as follows : 

Serapion, the recluse of Serapis, to Publius Cor- 
nelius Scipio Nasica, the Roman. 

Serapion greets Publius Scipio, and acquaints him 
that Irene, the younger sister of Klea, the water-bearer, 
has disappeared from this temple, and, as Serapion sus- 
pects, by the wiles of the epistolographer Eulaeus, 
whom we both know, and who seems to have acted un- 
der the orders of King Ptolemy Euergetes. Seek to 
discover where Irene can be. Save her if thou canst 
from her ravishers, and conduct her back to this temple 
or deliver her in Memphis into the hands of my sister 
Leukippa, the wife of the overseer of the harbor, named 
Hipparchus, who dwells in the toll-house. May Serapis 
preserve thee and thine.” 

The recluse had just finished his letters when Klea 
returned to him. The girl hid them in the folds of the 
bosom of her robe, said farewell to her friend, and re- 
mained quite grave and collected, while Serapion, with 
tears in his eyes, stroked her hair, gave her his parting 
blessing, and finally even hung round her neck an amu- 
let for good luck, that his mother had worn — it was an 
eye in rock-crystal with a protective inscription. Then, 


^4 


210 


THE SISTERS. 


without any further delay, she set out towards the temple- 
gate, which, in obedience to the commands of the high- 
priest, was now locked. The gate-keeper — little Philo’s 
father — sat close by on a stone bench, keeping guard. 
In a friendly tone Klea asked him to open the gate; but 
the anxious official would not immediately comply with 
her request, but reminded her of Asclepiodorus’ strict 
injunctions, and informed her that the great Roman had 
demanded admission to the temple about three hours 
since, but had been refused by the high-priest’s special 
orders. He had asked too for her, and had promised 
to return on the morrow. 

The hot blood flew to Klea’s face and eyes as she 
heard this news. Could Publius no more cease to think 
of her than she of him ? Had Serapion guessed rightly ? 

“The darts of Eros” — the recluse’s phrase flashed 
through her mind, and struck her heart as if it were it- 
self a winged arrow ; it frightened her and yet she liked 
it, but only for one brief instant, for the utmost distrust 
of her own weakness came over her again directly, and 
she told herself with a shudder that she was on the 
high-road to follow up and seek out the importunate 
stranger. 

All the horrors of her undertaking stood vividly be- 
fore hety and if she had now retraced her steps she would 
not have been without an excuse to offer to her own 
conscience, since the temple-gate was closed, and might 
not be opened to any one, not even to her. 

For a moment she felt a certain satisfaction in this 
flattering reflection, but as she thought again of Irene 
her resolve was once more confirmed, and going closer 
up to the gate-keeper she said with great determina- 
tion : 


THE SISTERS. 


21 1 


‘^Open the gate tome without delay; you know 
that I am not accustomed to do or to desire anything 
wrong'. I beg of you to push back the bolt at once.” 

The man — to whom Klea had done many kind- 
nesses, and whom Imhotep had that very day told that 
she was the good spirit of his house, and that he ought 
to venerate her as a divinity — obeyed her orders, though 
with some doubt and hesitation. The heavy bolt flew 
back, the brazen gate opened, the water-bearer stepped 
out, flung a dark veil over her head, and set out on her 
walk. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


A PAVED road, with a row of Sphinxes on each 
side, led from the Greek temple of Serapis to the 
rock-hewn tombs of Apis, and the temples and 
chapels built over them, and near them; in these 
the Apis bull after its death — or ‘Tn Osiris” as 
the phrase went — was worshipped, while, so long as 
it lived, it was taken care of and prayed to in the 
temple to which it belonged, that of the god Ptah 
at Memphis. After death these sacred bulls, which 
were distinguished by peculiar marks, had extraordi- 
narily costly obsequies; they were called the risen Ptah, 
and regarded as the symbol of the soul of Osiris, by 
whose procreative power all that dies or passes away 
is brought to new birth and new life — the departed soul 
of man, the plant that has perished, and the heavenly 
bodies that have set. Osiris-Sokari, who was worship- 

14 * 


212 


THE SISTERS. 


ped as the companion of Osiris, presided over the wan- 
derings which had to be performed by the seemingly 
extinct spirit before its resuscitation as another bdng in 
a new form; and Egyptian priests governed in the tem- 
ples of these gods, which were purely Egyptian in style, 
and which had been built at a very early date over the 
tomb-cave of the sacred bulls. And even the Greek 
ministers of Serapis, settled at Memphis, were ready to 
follow the example of their rulers and to sacrifice to 
Osiris- Apis, who was closely allied to Serapis — not only 
in name but in his essential attributes. Serapis himself 
indeed was a divinity introduced from Asia into the 
Nile valley by the Ptolemies, in order to supply to their 
Greek and Egyptian subjects alike an object of adora- 
tion, before whose altars they could unite in a common 
worship. They devoted themselves to the worship of 
Apis in Osiris at the shrines, of Greek architecture, and 
containing stone images of bulls, that stood outside the 
Egyptian sanctuary, and they were very ready to be 
initiated into the higher significance of his essence; 
indeed, all religious mysteries in their Greek home bore 
reference to the immortality of the soul and its fate in 
the 6ther world. 

Just as two neighboring cities may be joined by a 
bridge^o the Greek temple of Serapis — to which the 
water-bearers belonged — was connected with the Egyp- 
tian sanctuary of Osiris-Apis by the fine paved road for 
processions along which Klea now rapidly proceeded. 
There was a shorter way to Memphis, but she chose 
this one, because the mounds of sand on each side of 
the road bordered by Sphinxes — which every day had 
to be cleared of the desert-drift — concealed her from the 
sight of her companions in the temple; besides the best 


THE SISTERS. 


213 


and safest way into the city was by a road leading from 
a crescent, decorated with busts of the philosophers, 
that lay near the principal entrance to the new Apis- 
tombs. 

She looked neither at the lion-bodies with men’s 
heads that guarded the way, nor at the images of beasts 
on the wall that shut it in; nor did she heed the dusky- 
hued temple-slaves of Osiris-Apis who were sweeping 
the sand from the paved way with large brooms, for 
she thought of nothing but Irene and the difficult task 
that lay before her, and she walked swiftly onwards with 
her eyes fixed on the ground. 

But she had taken no more than a few steps when 
she heard her name called quite close to her, and look- 
ing up in alarm she found herself standing opposite 
Krates, the little smith, who came close up to her, took 
hold of her veil, threw it back a little before she could 
prevent him, and asked: 

“ Where are you off to, child ? ” 

‘‘Do not detain me,” entreated Klea. “You know 
that Irene, whom you are always so fond of, has been 
carried off; perhaps I may be able to save her, but if 
you betray me, and if they follow me — ” 

“I will not hinder you,” interrupted the old man. 
‘•Nay, if it were not for these swollen feet I would go 
with you, for I can think of nothing else but the poor 
dear little thing; but as it is I shall be glad enough 
when I am sitting still again in my workshop; it is ex- 
actly as if a workman of my own trade lived in each of 
my great toes, and was dancing round in them Avith 
hammer and file and chisel and nails. Very likely you 
may be so fortunate as to find your sister, for a crafty 
Avoman succeeds in many things which are too difficult 


214 


THE SISTERS. 


for a wise man. Go on, and if they seek for you old 
Krates will not betray you.” 

He nodded kindly at Klea, and had already half 
turned his back on her when he once more looked 
round, and called out to her: 

“Wait a minute, girl — you can do me a little ser- 
vice. I have just fitted a new lock to the door of the 
Apis-tomb down there. It answers admirably, but the 
one key to it which I have made is not enough ; we 
require four, and you shall order them for me of the 
locksmith Heri, to be sent the day after to-morrow; he 
lives opposite the gate of Sokari — to the left, next the 
bridge over the canal — you cannot miss it. I hate re- 
l^eating and copying as much as I like inventing and 
making new things, and Heri can work from a pattern 
just as well as I can. If it were not for my legs I would 
give the man my commission myself, for he who speaks 
by the lips of a go-between is often misunderstood or 
not understood at all.” 

‘‘I will gladly save you the walk,” replied Klea, 
while the smith sat down on the pedestal of one of the 
Sphinxes, and opening the leather wallet which hung by 
his side shook out the contents. A few files, chisels, 
and nails fell out into his lap ; then the key, and finally 
a sharpi^Dointed knife with which Krates had cut out the 
hollow in the door for the insertion of the lock; Krates 
touched up the pattern-key for the smith in Memphis 
with a few strokes of the file, and then, muttering 
thoughtfully and shaking his head doubtfully from side 
to side, he exclaimed: 

“You still must come with me once more to the 
door, for I require accurate workmanship from other 
people, and so I must be severe upon my own.” 


THE SISTERS. 


215 


‘^But I want so much to reach Memphis before 
dark/’ besought Klea. 

‘‘The whole thing will not take a minute, and if you 
will give me your arm I shall go twice as fast. There 
are the files, there is the knife.” ^ 

“ Give it me,” Klea requested. “ This blade is sharp 
and bright, and as soon as I saw it I felt as if it bid me 
take it with me. Very likely I may have to come 
through the desert alone at night.” 

“Aye,” said the smith, “and even the weakest feels 
stronger when he has a weapon. Hide the knife some- 
where about you, my child, only take care not to hurt 
yourself with it. Now let me take your arm, and on 
we will go — ^but not quite so fast.” 

Klea led the smith to the door he indicated, and 
saAv with admiration how unfailingly the bolt sprang 
forward when one half of the door closed upon the 
other, and how easily the key pushed it back again; 
then, after conducting Krates back to the Sphinx near 
v/hich she had met him, she went on her way at her 
quickest pace, for the sun was already very low, and it 
seemed scarcely possible to reach Memphis before it 
should set. 

As she approached a tavern where soldiers and low 
people were accustomed to resort, she was met by a 
drunken slave. She went on and past him without any 
fear, for the knife in her girdle, and on which she kept 
her hand, kept up her courage, and she felt as if she 
had thus acquired a third hand which was more power- 
ful and less timid than her own. A company of sol- 
diers had encamped in front of the tavern, and the wine 
of Khakem, which was grown close by, on the east- 
ern declivity of the Libyan range, had an excellent 


THE SISTERS. 


:2i6 

:3a vor. The men were in capital spirits, for at noon to- 
<iay — after they had been quartered here for months as 
guards of the tombs of Apis and of the temples of the 
Necropolis — a commanding officer of the Diadoches 
bad arrived at Memphis, who had ordered them to 
break up at once, and to withdraw into the capital 
before nightfall. They were not to be relieved by other 
mercenaries till the next morning. 

All this Klea learned from a messenger from the 
Egyptian temple in the Necropolis, who recognized 
her, and who was going to Memphis, commissioned by 
the priests of Osiris-Apis and Sokari to convey a petition 
to the king, praying that fresh troops might be promptly 
sent to replace those now withdrawn. 

For some time she went on side by side with this 
messenger, but soon she found that she could not keep 
up with his hurried pace, and had to fall behind. In 
front of another tavern sat the officers of the troops, 
whose noisy mirth she had heard as she passed the for- 
mer one; they were sitting over their wine and looking 
on at the dancing of two Egyptian girls, who screeched 
like cackling hens over their mad leaps, and who so 
effectually riveted tlie attention of the spectators, who 
were beating time for them by clapping their hands, 
that accelerating her step, was able to slip unob- 

served past the wild crew. All these scenes, nay every- 
thing she met with on the high-road, scared the girl 
who was accustomed to the silence and the solemn life 
of the temple of Serapis, and she therefore struck into a 
side path that probably also led to the city which she 
could already see lying before her with its pylons, its 
citadel and its houses, veiled in evening mist. In a 
quarter of an hour at most she would have crossed the 


THE SISTERS. 


217 


desert, and reach the fertile meadow land, whose emer- 
ald hue grew darker and darker every moment. The 
sun was already sinking to rest behind the Libyan 
range, and soon after, for twilight is short in Egypt, 
she was wrapped in the darkness of night. The west- 
wind, which had begun to blow even at noon, now rose 
higher, and seemed to pursue her with its hot breath and 
the clouds of sand it carried with it from the desert. 

She must certainly be approaching water, for she 
heard the deep pipe of the bittern in the reeds, and fan- 
cied she breathed a moister air. A few steps more, and 
her foot sank in mud; and she now perceived that she 
was standing on the edge of a wide ditch in which tall 
papyrus-plants were growing. The side path she had 
struck into ended at this plantation, and there was 
nothing to be done but to turn about, and to continue 
her walk against the wind and with the sand blowing 
in her face. 

The light from the drinking-booth showed her the 
direction she must follow, for though the moon was up, 
it is true, black clouds swept across it, covering it and 
the smaller lights of heaven for many minutes at a time. 
Still she felt no fatigue, but the shouts of the men and 
the loud cries of the women that rang out from the 
tayern filled her with alarm and disgust. She made a 
wide circuit round the hostelry, wading through the 
sand hillocks and tearing her dress on the thorns and 
thistles that had boldly struck deep root in the desert, 
and had grown up there like the squalid brats in the 
hovel of a beggar. But still, as she hurried on by the 
high-road, the hideous laughter and the crowing mirth 
of the dancing- girls still rang in her mind’s ear. 

Her blood coursed more swiftly through her veins. 


2lS 


THE SISTERS. 


her head was on fire, she saw Irene close before her, 
tangibly distinct — with flowing hair and fluttering gar* 
ments, whirling in a wild dance like a Maenad at a Dio- 
nysiac festival, flying from one embrace to another and 
shouting and shrieking in unbridled folly like the 
wretched girls she had seen on her way. She was 
seized with terror for her sister — an unbounded dread 
such as she had never felt before, and as the wind was 
now once more behind her she let herself be driven on 
by it, lifting her feet in a swift run and flying, as if pur- 
sued by the Erinnyes, without once looking round her 
and wholly forgetful of the smith’s commission, on 
towards the city along the road planted with trees, 
which, as she knew led to the gate of the citadel. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

In front of the gate of the king’s palace sat a crowd 
of petitioners who were accustomed to stay here from 
early dawn till late at night, until they were called into 
the palace to receive the answer to the petition they 
had drawn up. When Klea reached the end of her 
journey she was so exhausted and bewildered that she 
felt the imperative necessity of seeking rest and quiet 
reflection, so she seated herself among these people, 
next to a woman from Upper Egypt. But hardly had 
she taken her place by her with a silent greeting, when 
her talkative neighbor began to relate with particular 
minuteness why she had come to Memphis, and how 
certain unjust judges had conspired with her bad hus- 
band to trick her — for men were always ready to join 


THE SISTERS. 


219 


\ 

against a woman — and to deprive her of everything 
which had been secured to her and her children by her 
marriage-contract. For two months now, she said, she 
had been waiting early and late before the sublime 
gate, and was consuming her last ready cash in the city 
where living was so dear; but it was all one to her, 
and at a pinch she would sell even her gold ornaments, 
for sooner or later her cause must come before the 
king, and then the wicked villain and his accomplices 
would be taught what was just. 

Klea heard but little of this harangue; a feeling had 
come over her like that of a person who is having 
water poured again and again on the top of his head. 
Presently her neighbor observed that the new-comer 
was not listening at all to her complainings; she 
slapped her shoulder with her hand, and said: 

‘‘You seem to think of nothing but your own con- 
cerns ; and I dare say they are not of such a nature as 
that you should relate them to any one else; so far as 
mine are concerned the more they are discussed, the 
better.” 

The tone in which these remarks were made was so 
dry, and at the same time so sharp, that it hurt Klea, 
and she rose hastily to go closer to the gate. Her 
neighbor threw a cross word after her; but she did not 
heed it, and drawing her veil closer over her face, she 
went through the gate of the palace into a vast court- 
yard, brightly lighted up by cressets and torches, and 
crowded with foot-soldiers and mounted guards. 

The sentry at the gate perhaps had not observed 
her, or perhaps had let her pass unchallenged from her 
dignified and erect gait, and the numerous armed men 
through whom she now made her way seemed to be so 


220 


THE SISTERS. 


mucli occupied with their own affairs, that no one 
bestowed any notice on her. In a narrow alley, which 
led to a second court and was lighted by lanterns, one 
of the body-guard known as Philobasilistes, a haughty 
young fellow in yellow riding-boots and a shirt of mail 
over his red tunic, came riding towards her on his tall 
horse, and noticing her he tried to squeeze her between 
his charger and the wall, and put out his hand to raise 
her veil; but Klea slipped aside, and put up her hands 
to protect herself from the horse’s head which was 
almost touching her. 

The cavalier, enjoying her alarm, called out: 

“ Only stand still — he is not vicious.” 

“ Which, you or your horse ? ” asked Klea, with such 
a solemn tone in her deep voice that for an instant the 
young guardsman lost his self-possession, and this gave 
her time to go farther from the horse. But the girl’s 
sharp retort had annoyed the conceited young fellow, 
and not having time to follow her himself, he called out 
m a tone of encouragement to a party of mercenaries 
from Cyprus, wdiom the frightened girl was trying to 
pass ; 

“ Look under this girl’s veil, comrades, and if she is as 
pretty as she is well-grown, I wish you joy of your prize.” 

He laughed as he pressed his knees against the 
flanks of his bay and trotted slowly away, while the 
Cypriotes gave Klea ample time to reach the second 
court, which was more brightly lighted even than the 
first, that they might there surround her with insolent 
importunity. 

The helpless and persecuted girl felt the blood run 
cold in her veins, and for a few minutes she could see 
nothing but a bewildering confusion of flashing eyes and 


THE SISTERS. 


221 


weapons, of beards and hands, could hear nothing but 
words and sounds, of which she understood and felt 
only that they were revolting and horrible, and threat- 
ened her with death and ruin. She had crossed her arms 
over her bosom, but now she raised her hands to hide 
her face, for she felt a strong hand snatch away the veil 
that covered her head. This insolent proceeding turned 
her numb horror to indignant rage, and, fixing her 
sparkling eyes on her bearded opponents, she ex- 
claimed : 

Shame upon you, who in the king’s own house fall 
like wolves on a defenceless woman, and in a peaceful 
spot snatch the veil from a young girl’s head. Your 
mothers would blush for you, and your sisters cry 
shame on you — as I do now ! ” 

Astonished at Klea’s distinguished beauty, startled 
at the angry glare in her eyes, and the deep chest-tones 
of her voice which trembled with excitement, the Cypri- 
otes drew back, while the same audacious rascal that 
had pulled away her veil came closer to her, and cried : 

Who would make such a noise about a rubbishy 
veil ! If you will be my sweetheart I will buy you a 
new one, and many things besides.” 

At the same time he tried to throw his arm round 
her ; but at his touch Klea felt the blood leave her 
cheeks and mount to her bloodshot eyes, and at that 
instant her hand, guided by some uncontrollable inward 
impulse, grasped the handle of the knife which Krates 
had lent her ; she raised it high in the air though with 
an unsteady arm, exclaiming : 

Let me go or, by Serapis whom I serve, I will 
strike you to the heart 1 ” 

The soldier to whom this threat was addressed, was 


222 


THE SISTER?. 


not the man to be intimidated by a blade of cold iron 
in a woman’s hand ; with a quick movement he seized 
her wrist in order to disarm her ; but although Klea 
was forced to drop the knife she struggled with him to 
free herself from his clutch, and this contest between a 
man and a woman, who seemed to be of superior rank 
to that indicated by her very simple dress, seemed to 
most of the Cypriotes so undignified, so much out of 
place within the walls of a palace, that they pulled their 
comrade back from Klea, while others on the contrary 
came to the assistance of the bully who defended him- 
self stoutly. ^ And in the midst of the fray, which was 
conducted with no small noise, stood Klea with flying 
breath. Her antagonist, though flung to the ground, 
still held her wrist with his left hand while he defended 
himself against his comrades with the right, and she tried 
with all her force and cunning to withdraw it ; for at 
the very height of her excitement and danger she felt as 
if a sudden gust of wind had swept her spirit clear of all 
confusion, and she was again able to contemplate her 
position calmly and resolutely. 

If only her hand were free she might perhaps be able 
to take advantage of the struggle between her foes, and 
to force her way out between their ranks. 

X\yice, thrice, four times, she tried to wrench her 
hand with a sudden jerk through the fingers that 
grasped it; but each time in vain. Suddenly, from the 
man at her feet there broke a loud, long-drawn cry of 
pain which re-echoed from the high walls of the court, 
and at the same time she felt the fingers of her antago- 
nist gradually and slowly slip from her arm like the 
straps of a sandal carefully lifted by the surgeon from a 
broken ankle. 


THE SISTERS. 


223 


is all over with him ! ” exclaimed the eldest of the 
Cypriotes. ‘‘ A man never calls out like that but once 
in his life ! True enough — the dagger is sticking here 
just under the ninth rib! This is mad work 1 ^ That is 
your doing again, Lykos, you savage wolf! ” 

He bit deep into my finger in the struggle — ” 

‘‘And you are for ever tearing each other to pieces 
for the sake of the women,’' interrupted the elder, not 
listening to the other’s excuses. “Well, I was no better 
than you in my time, and nothing can alter it ! You 
had better be off now, for if the Epistrategist learns we 
have fallen to stabbing each other again — ” 

The Cypriote had not ceased speaking, and his 
countrymen were in the very act of raising the body of 
their comrade when a division of the civic watch rushed 
into the court in close order and through the pas- 
sage near which the fight for the girl had arisen, thus 
stopping the way against those who were about to 
escape, since all who wished to get out of the court into 
the open street must pass through the doorway into 
which Klea had been forced by the horseman. Every 
other exit from this second court of the citadel led into 
the strictly guarded gardens and buildings of the palace 
itself 

The noisy strife round Klea, and the cry of the 
wounded man had attracted the watch ; the Cypriotes 
and the maiden soon found themselves surrounded, and 
they were conducted through a narrow side passage 
into the court-yard of the prison. After a short enquiry 
the men who had been taken were allowed to return 
under an escort to their own phalanx, and Klea gladly 
followed the commander of the watch to a less brill- 
iantly illuminated part of the prison-yard, for in him 


224 


THE SISTERS. 


she had recognized at once Serapion’s brother Glaucus, 
and he in her the daughter of the man who had done 
and suffered so much for his father’s sake ; besides they 
had often exchanged greetings and a few words in the 
temple of Serapis. 

All that is in my power,” said Glaucus — a man 
somewhat taller but not so broadly built as his brother 
— when he had read the recluse’s note and when Klea 
had answered a number of questions, all that is in my 
power I will gladly do for you and your sister, for I do 
not forget all that I owe to your father; still I cannot but 
regret that you have incurred such risk, for it is always 
hazardous for a pretty young girl to venture into this 
palace at a late hour, and particularly just now, for the 
courts are swarming not only with Philometor’s fighting 
men but with those of his brother, who have come here 
for their sovereign’s birthday festival. The people have 
been liberally entertained, and the soldier who has been 
sacrificing to Dionysus seizes the gifts of Eros and 
Aphrodite wherever he may find them. I will at once 
take charge of my brother’s letter to the Roman Publius 
Cornelius Scipio, but when you have received his 
answer you will do well to let yourself be escorted to 
my wife or my sister, who both live in the city, and to 
remain till to-morrow morning with one or the other. 
Here you cannot remain a minute unmolested while I 
am away — Where now — Aye ! The only safe shelter I 
can offer you is the prison down there; the room where 
they lock up the subaltern officers when they have com- 
mitted any offence is quite unoccupied, and I will con- 
duct you thither. It is always kept clean, and there is 
a bench in it too.” 

Klea followed her friend who, as his hasty demeanor 


THE SISTERS. 


225 


plainly showed, had been interrupted in important busi- 
ness. In a few steps they reached the prison ; she 
begged Glaucus to bring her the Roman’s answer as 
quickly as possible, declared herself quite ready to re- 
main in the dark — since she perceived that the light of 
a lamp might betray her, and she was not afraid of the 
dark — and suffered herself to be locked in. 

As she heard the iron bolt creak in its brass socket 
a shiver ran through her, and although the room in 
which she found herself was neither worse nor smaller 
than that in which she and her sister lived in the tem- 
ple, still it oppressed her, and she even felt as if an 
indescribable something hindered her breathing as she 
said to herself that she was locked in and no longer 
free to come and to go. A dim light penetrated into 
her prison through the single barred window that opened 
on to the court, and she could see a little bench of palm- 
branches on which she sat down to seek the repose she 
so sorely needed. All sense of discomfort gradually 
vanished before the new feeling of rest and refreshment, 
and pleasant hopes and anticipations were just begin- 
ning to mingle themselves with the remembrance of the 
horrors she had just experienced when suddenly there 
was a stir and a bustle just in front of the prison — 
and she could hear, outside, the clatter of harness and 
words of command. She rose from her seat and saw 
that about twenty horsemen, whose golden helmets and 
armor reflected the light of the lanterns, cleared the 
wide court by driving the men before them, as the 
flames drive the game from a fired hedge, and by forc- 
ing them into a second court from which again they 
proceeded to expel them. At least Klea could hear 
them shouting ‘In the king’s name’ there as they had 


226 


THE SISTERS. 


before done close to her. Presently the horsemen re- 
turned and placed themselves, ten and ten, as guards at 
each of the passages leading into the court. It was not 
without interest that Klea looked on at this scene which 
was perfectly new to her; and when one of the fine 
horses, dazzled by the light of the lanterns, turned res- 
tive and shied, leaping and rearing and threatening his 
rider with a fall — when the horseman checked and 
soothed it, and brought it to a stand-still — the Mace- 
donian warrior was transfigured in her eyes to Publius, 
who no doubt could manage a horse no less well than 
this man. 

No sooner was the court completely cleared of men 
by the mounted guard than a new incident claimed 
Klea’s attention. First she heard footsteps in the room 
adjoining her prison, then bright streaks of light fell 
through the cracks of the slight partition which divided 
her place of retreat from the other room, then the two 
window-openings close to hers were closed with heavy 
shutters, then seats or benches were dragged about and 
various objects were laid upon a table, and finally the 
door of the adjoining room was thrown open and slam- 
med to again so violently, that the door which closed 
hers and the bench near which she was standing trem- 
bled aTid jarred. 

At the same moment a deep sonorous voice called 
out with a loud and hearty shout of laughter: 

mirror — give me a mirror, Eulaeus. By heaven! 
I do not look much like prison fare — more like a man in 
whose strong brain there is no lack of deep schemes, 
who can throttle his antagonist with a grip of his fist, 
and who is prompt to avail himself of all the spoil that 
comes in his way, so that he may compress the pleasures 


THE SISTERS. 


227 


of a whole day into every hour, and enjoy them to the 
utmost! As surely as my name is Euergetes my uncle 
Antiochus was right in liking to mix among the popu- 
lace. The splendid puppets who surround us kings, and 
cover every portion of their own bodies in wrappings 
and swaddling bands, also stifle the expression of every 
genuine sentiment; and it is enough to turn our brain 
to reflect that, if we would not be deceived, every word 
that we hear — and, oh dear! how many words we must 
needs hear — must be pondered in our minds. Now, the 
mob on the contrary — who think themselves beautifully 
dressed in a threadbare cloth hanging round their brown 
loins — are far better off. If one of them says to an- 
other of his own class — a naked wretch who wears 
about him everything he happens to possess — that he 
is a dog, he answers with a blow of his fist in the other’s 
face, and what can be plainer than that! If on the 
other hand he tells him he is a splendid fellow, he be- 
lieves it without reservation, and has a perfect right to 
believe it. 

Did you see how that stunted little fellow with a 
snub-nose and bandy -legs, who is as broad as he is long, 
showed all his teeth in a delighted grin when I praised 
his steady hand? He laughs just like a hyena, and 
every respectable father of a family looks on the fellow 
ns a god-forsaken monster; but the immortals must 
think him worth something to have given him such 
magnificent grinders in his ugly mouth, and to have 
preserved him mercifully for fifty years — for that is 
about the rascal’s age. If that fellow’s dagger breaks 
he can kill his victim with those teeth, as a fox does a 
duck, or smash his bones with his fist.” 

^^But, my lord,” replied Eulaeus dryly and with a 

15 * 


228 


THE SISTERS. 


certain matter-of-fact gravity to King Euergetes — for he 
it was who had come with him into the room adjoining 
Klea’s retreat, ^-the dry little Egyptian with the thin 
straight hair is even more trustworthy and tougher and 
nimbler than his companion, and, so far, more estimable. 
One flings himself on his prey with a rush like a block 
of stone hurled from a roof, but the other, without being 
seen, strikes his poisoned fang into his flesh like an ad- 
der hidden in the sand. The third, on whom I had set 
great hopes, was beheaded the day before yesterday 
without my knowledge; but the pair whom you have 
condescended to inspect with your own eyes are suffi- 
cient. They must use neither dagger nor lance, but they 
will easily achieve their end with slings and hooks and 
poisoned needles, which leave wounds that resemble the 
sting of an adder. We may safely depend on these 
fellows.” 

Once more Euergetes laughed loudly, and ex- 
claimed : 

‘‘What an elaborate criticism! Exactly as if these 
blood-hounds were tragic actors of which one could best 
produce his effects by fire and pathos, and the other by 
the subtlety of his conception. I call that an unprej- 
udiced judgment. And why should not a man be 
great ^en as a murderer? From what hangman’s 
noose did you drag out the neck of one, and from what 
headsman’s block did you rescue, the other when you 
found them ? 

“It is a lucky hour in which we first see something 
new to us, and, by Heracles! I never before in the 
whole course, of my life saw such villains as these. I do 
not regret having gone to see them and talked to them 
as if I were their equal. Now, take this torn coat off 


THE SISTERS. 


229 


me, and help me to undress. Before I go to the feast 
I will take a hasty plunge in my bath, for I twitch in 
every limb, I feel as if I had got dirty in their com- 
pany. 

“There lie my clothes and my sandals; strap them 
on for me, and tell me as you do it how you lured the 
Roman into the toils.” 

Klea could hear every word of this frightful conver- 
sation, and clasped her hand over her brow with a 
shudder, for she found it difficult to believe in the 
reality of the hideous images that it brought before her 
mind. Was she awake or was she a prey to some 
horrid dream? 

She hardly knew, and, indeed, she scarcely under- 
stood half of all she heard till the Roman’s name was 
mentioned. She felt as if the point of a thin, keen knife 
was being driven obliquely through her brain from 
right to left, as it now flashed through her mind that it 
was against him, against Publius, that the wild beasts, 
disguised in human form, were directed by Eulaeus, and 
face to face with this — the most hideous, the most in- 
credible of horrors — she suddenly recovered the full use 
of her senses. She softly slipped close to that rift in the 
partition through which the broadest beam of light fell 
into the room, put her ear close to it, and drank in, 
with fearful attention, word for word the report made 
by the eunuch to his iniquitous superior, who fre- 
quently interrupted him with remarks, words of ap- 
proval or a short laugh — drank them in, as a man 
perishing in the desert drinks the loathsome waters of a 
salt pool. 

And what she heard was indeed well fitted to de- 
prive her of her senses, but the more definite the facts 


230 


THE SISTERS. 


to which the words referred that she could overhear, 
the more keenly she listened, and the more resolutely 
she collected her thoughts. Eulaeus had used her own 
name to induce the Roman to keep an assignation at 
midnight in the desert close to the Apis-tombs. He 
repeated the words that he had written to this effect on 
a tile, and which requested Publius to come quite alone 
to the spot indicated, since she dare not speak with 
him in the temple. Finally he was invited to write his 
answer on the other side of the square of clay. As 
Klea heard these words, put into her own mouth by a 
villain, she could have sobbed aloud heartily with an- 
guish, shame, and rage; but the point now was to keep 
her ears wide open, for Euergetes asked his odious tool: 

‘‘And what was the Roman’s answer?” Eulaeus 
must have handed the tile to the king, for he laughed 
loudly again, and cried out: 

“So he will walk into the trap — will arrive by half 
an hour after midnight at the latest, and greets Klea 
from her sister Irene. He carries on love-making and 
abduction wholesale, and buys water-bearers by the 
pair, like doves in the market or sandals in a shoe- 
maker’s stall. Only see how the simpleton writes Greek; 
in these few 'words there are two mistakes, two regular 
schooThbys’ blunders. 

“The fellow must have had a very pleasant day of 
it, since he must have been reckoning on a not unsuc- 
cessful evening — but the gods have an ugly habit of 
clenching the hand with which they have long caressed 
their favorites, and striking him with their fist. 

“Amalthea’s horn has been poured out on him to- 
day; first he snapped up, under my very nose, my little 
Hebe, the Irene of Irenes, whom I hope to-morrow to 


THE SISTERS. 


231 


inherit from him; then he got the gift of my best Cy- 
renaean horses, and at the same time the flattering 
assurance of my valuable friendship; then he had audi- 
ence of my fair sister — and it goes more to the heart of 
a republican than you would believe when crowned 
heads are graciously disposed towards him — finally 
the sister of his pretty sweetheart invites him to an 
assignation, and she, if you and Zoe speak the truth, is 
a beauty in the grand style. Now these are really too 
many good things for one inhabitant of this most 
stingily provided world; and in one single day too, 
which, once begun, is so soon ended; and justice re- 
quires that we should lend a helping hand to destiny, 
and cut ofl* the head of this poppy that aspires to rise 
above its brethren ; the thousands who have less good 
fortune than he would otherwise have great cause to 
complain of neglect.” 

“I am happy to see you in such good humor,” said 
Eulaeus. 

‘‘My humor is as may be,” interrupted the king. 
“ I believe I am only whistling a merry tune to keep up 
my spirits in the dark. If I were on more familiar 
terms with what other men call fear I should have am- 
ple reason to be afraid; for in the quail-fight we have 
gone in for I have wagered a crown — aye, and more 
than that even. To-morrow only will decide whether 
the game is lost or won, but I know already to-day 
that I would rather see my enterprise against Philome- 
tor fail, with all my hopes of the double crown, than 
our plot against the life of the Roman; for I was a 
man before I was a king, and a man I should remain, 
if my throne, which now indeed stands on only two 
legs, were to crash under my weight. 


232 THE SISTERS. 

“ My sovereign dignity is but a robe, though the 
costliest, to be sure, of all garments. If forgiveness 
were any part of my nature I might easily forgive the 
man who should soil or injure that — but he who comes 
too near to Euergetes the man, who dares to touch this 
body, and the spirit it contains, or to cross it in its de- 
sires and purposes — him I will crush unhesitatingly to 
the earth, I will see him torn in pieces. Sentence is 
passed on the Roman, and if your ruffians do their 
duty, and if the gods accept the holocaust that I had 
slain before them at sunset for the success of my project, 
in a couple of hours Publius Cornelius Scipio will have 
bled to death. 

He is in a position to laugh at me — as a man — 
but I therefore — as a man — have the right, and — as a 
king — have the power, to make sure that that laugh 
shall be his last. If I could murder Rome as I can 
him how glad should I be ! for Rome alone hinders me 
from being the greatest of all the great kings of our 
time; and yet I shall rejoice to-morrow when they tell 
me ‘Publius Cornelius Scipio has been torn by wild 
beasts, and his body is so mutilated that his own mother 
could not recognize it’ more than if a messenger were to 
bring me the news that Carthage had broken the power 
of Roi^/’ 

Euergetes had spoken the last words in a voice that 
sounded like the roll of thunder as it growls in a rapidly 
approaching storm, louder, deeper, and more furious 
each instant. When at last he was silent Eulaeus said: 

“The immortals, my lord, will not deny you this 
happiness. The brave fellows whom you condescended 
to see and to talk to strike as certainly as the bolt of 
our father Zeus, and as we have learned from the Ro- 


THE SISTERS. 


233 


man’s horse-keeper where he has hidden Irene, she will 
no more elude your grasp than the crowns of Upper 
and Lower Egypt. — Now, allow me to put on your 
mantle, and then to call the body-guard that they may 
escort you as you return to your residence.” 

One thing more,” cried the king, detaining Eulaeus. 

There are always troops by the Tombs of Apis placed 
there to guard the sacred places; may not they prove 
a hindrance to your friends ? ” 

‘T have withdrawn all the soldiers and armed guards 
to Memphis down to the last man,” replied Eulaeus, 
‘‘and quartered them within the White Wall. Early to- 
morrow, before you proceed to business, they will be 
replaced by a stronger division, so that they may not 
prove a reinforcement to your brother’s troops here if 
things come to fighting.” 

“ I shall know how to reward your foresight,” said 
Euergetes as Eulaeus quitted the room. 

Again Klea heard a door open, and the sound of 
many hoofs on the pavement of the court-yard, and 
when she went, all trembling, up to the window, she 
saw Euergetes himself, and the powerfully knit horse 
that was led in for him. The tyrant twisted his hand 
in the mane of the restless and pawing steed, and Klea 
thought that the monstrous mass could never mount on 
to the horse’s back without the aid of many men; but 
she was mistaken, for with a mighty spring the giant 
flung himself high in the air and on to the horse, and 
then, guiding his panting steed by the pressure of his 
knees alone, he bounded out of the prison-yard sur- 
rounded by his splendid train. 

For some minutes the court-yard remained empty, 
then a man hurriedly crossed it, unlocked the door of 


234 


THE SISTERS. 


the room where Klea was, and informed her that he 
was a subaltern under Glaucus, and had brought her a 
message from him. 

lord,’^ said the veteran soldier to the girl, ‘‘bid 
me greet you, and says that he found neither the Roman 
Publius Scipio, nor his friend the Corinthian at home. 
He is prevented from coming to you himself; he ha:; 
his hands full of business, for soldiers in the service of 
both the kings are quartered within the White Wall, and 
all sorts of squabbles break out between them. Still, 
you cannot remain in this room, for it will shortly be 
occupied by a party of young officers who began the 
fray. Glaucus proposes for your choice that you should 
either allow me to conduct you to his wife or return to 
the temple to which you are attached. In the latter 
case a chariot shall convey you as far as the second 
tavern in Khakem on the borders of the desert — for the 
city is full of drunken soldiery. There you may prob- 
ably find an escort if you explain to the host who you 
are. But the chariot must be back again in less than 
an hour, for it is one of the king’s, and when the ban- 
quet is over there may be a scarcity of chariots.” 

“Yes — I will go back to the place I came from,” 
said Klea eagerly, interrupting the messenger. “Take 
me at once to the chariot.” 

“Follow me, then,” said the old man. 

“But I have no veil,” observed Klea, “and have 
only this thin robe on. Rough soldiers snatched my 
wrapper from my face, and my cloak from off my 
shoulders.” 

“I will bring you the captain’s cloak which is lying 
here in the orderly’s room, and his travelling-hat too; 
that will hide your face with its broad flap. You are so 


THE SISTERS. 


235 


tall that you might be taken for a man, and that is well, 
for a woman leaving the palace at this hour would 
hardly pass unmolested. A slave shall fetch the things 
from your temple to-morrow. I may inform you that 
my master ordered me take as much care of you as if 
you were his own daughter. And he told me too — and 
I had nearly forgotten it — to tell you that your sister 
was carried olf by the Roman, and not by that other 
dangerous man, you would know whom he meant. 
Now wait, pray, till I return; I shall not be long gone.’^ 
In a few minutes the guard returned with a large 
cloak in which he wrapped Klea, and a broad-brimmed 
travelling-hat which she pressed down on her head, and 
he then conducted her to that quarter of the palace 
where the king’s stables were. She kept close to the 
officer, and was soon mounted on a chariot, and then 
conducted by the driver — who took her for a young 
Macedonian noble, who was tempted out at night by 
some assignation — as far as the second tavern on the 
road back to the Serapeum. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

While Klea had been listening to the conversation 
between Euergetes and Eulaeus, Cleopatra had been 
sitting in her tent, and allowing herself to be dressed 
with no less care than on the preceding evening, but in 
other garments. 

It would seem that all had not gone so smoothly as 
she wished during the day, for her two tire-women 
had red eyes. Her lady-in-waiting, Zoe, was reading 


^ 3 ^ 


THE SISTERS. 


to her, not this time from a Greek philosopher but from 
a Greek translation of the Hebrew Psalms: a discussion 
as to their poetic merit having arisen a few days pre- 
viously at the supper-table. Onias, the Israelite gen- 
eral, had asserted that these odes might be compared 
with those of Aleman or of Pindar, and had quoted cer- 
tain passages that had pleased the queen. To-day she 
was not disposed for thought, but wanted something 
strange and out of the common to distract her mind, so 
she desired Zoe to open the book of the Hebrews, of 
which the translation was considered by the Hellenic 
Jews in Alexandria as an .admirable work — nay, even 
as inspired by God himself; it had long been known to 
her through her Israelite friends and guests. 

Cleopatra had been listening for about a quarter of 
an hour to Zoe’s reading when the blast of a trumpet 
rang out on the steps which led up her tent, announcing 
a visitor of the male sex. The queen glanced angrily 
round, signed to her lady to stop reading, and ex- 
claimed : 

‘H will not see my husband now! Go, Thais, and 
tell the eunuchs on the steps, that I beg Philometor not 
to disturb me just now. Go on, Zoe.” 

Ten more psalms had been read, and a few verses 
repeated twice or thrice by Cleopatra’s desire, when the 
pretty Athenian returned with flaming cheeks, and said 
in an excited tone: 

It is not your husband, the king, but your brother 
Euergetes, who asks to speak with you.” 

‘‘ He might have chosen some other hour,” replied 
Cleopatra, looking round at her maid. Thais cast down 
her eyes, and twitched the edge of her robe between her 
fingers as she addressed her mistress; but the queen, 


THE SISTERS. 


237 


whom nothing could escape that she chose to see, 
and who was not to-day in the humor for laughing or 
for letting any indiscretion escape unreproved, went on 
at once in an incensed and cutting tone, raising her 
voice to a sharp pitch: 

I do not choose that my messengers should allow 
themselves to be detained, be it by whom it may — do 
you hear! Leave me this instant and go to your room, 
and stay there till I want you to undress me this even- 
ing. Andromeda — do you hear, old woman ? — you can 
bring my brother to me, and he will let you return 
quicker than Thais, I fancy. You need not leer at your- 
self in the glass, you cannot do anything to alter your 
wrinkles. My head-dress is already done. Give me 
that linen wrapper, Olympias, and then he may come! 
Why, there he is already! First you ask permission, 
brother, and then disdain to wait till it is given 
you.” 

‘^Longing and waiting,” replied Euergetes, are but 
an ill-assorted couple. I wasted this evening with 
common soldiers and fawning flatterers; then, in order 
to see a few noble countenances, I went into the prison, 
after that I hastily took a bath, for the residence of your 
convicts spoils one’s complexion more, and in a less 
pleasant manner, than this little shrine, where every- 
thing looks and smells like Aphrodite’s tiring-room; 
and now I have a longing to hear a few good words 
before supper- time comes.” 

^‘From my lips?” asked Cleopatra. 

There are none that can speak better, whether by 
the Nile or the Ilissus.” 

What do you want of me ? ” 

I — of you ? ” 


238 


THE SISTERS. 


“ Certainly, for you do not speak so prettily unless 
you want something.” 

“But I have already told you! I want to hear you 
say something wise, something witty, something soul- 
stirring.” 

“We cannot call up wit as we would a maid-servant. 
It comes unbidden, and the more urgently we press it 
to appear the more certainly it remains away.” 

“That may be true of others, but not of you who, 
even while you declare that you have no store of Attic 
salt, are seasoning your speech with it. All yield 
obedience to grace and beauty, even wit and the 
sharp-tongued Momus who mocks even at the 
gods.” 

“You are mistaken, for not even my own waiting- 
maids return in proper time when I commission them 
with a message to you.” 

“And may we not to be allowed to sacrifice to the 
Charites on the way to the temple of Aphrodite?” 

“ If I were indeed the goddess, those worshippers 
who regarded my hand-maidens as my equals would 
find small acceptance with me.” 

“Your reproof is perfectly just, for you are justified 
in requiring that all who know you should worship but 
one^oddess, as the Jews do but one god. But I en- 
treat you do not again compare yourself to the brain- 
less Cyprian dame. You may be allowed to do so, so 
far as your grace is concerned ; but who ever saw an 
Aphrodite philosophizing and reading serious books? 
I have disturbed you in grave studies no doubt; what 
is the book you are rolling up, fair Zoe?” 

“The sacred book of the Jews, Sire,” replied Zoe; 
“ one that I know you do not love.” 


THE SISTERS. 


239 


‘‘And you — who read Homer, Pindar, Sophocles, 
and Plato — do you like it ? ” asked Euergetes. 

“ I find passages in it which show a profound knowl- 
edge of life, and others of which no one can dispute the 
high poetic flight,” replied Cleopatra. “ Much of it has 
no doubt a thoroughly barbarian twang, and it is par- 
ticularly in the Psalms — which we have now been read- 
ing, and which might be ranked with the finest hymns 
— that I miss the number and rhythm of the syllables, 
the observance of a fixed metre — in short, severity of 
form. David, the royal poet, was no less possessed by 
the divinity when he sang to his lyre than other poets 
have been, but he does not seem to have known that 
delight felt by our poets in overcoming the difficulties 
they have raised for themselves. The poet should slav- 
ishly obey the laws he lays down for himself of his own 
free-will, and subordinate to them every word, and yet 
his matter and his song should seem to float on a free 
and soaring wing. Now, even the original Hebrew 
text of the Psalms has no metrical laws.” 

“I could well dispense with them,” replied Euer- 
getes ; “ Plato too disdained to measure syllables, and 
I know passages in his works which are nevertheless 
full of the highest poetic beauty. Besides, it has been 
pointed out to me that even the Hebrew poems, like the 
Egyptian, follow certain rules, which however I might 
certainly call rhetorical rather than poetical. The first 
member in a series of ideas stands in antithesis to the 
next, which either re-states the former one in a new 
form or sets it in a clearer light by suggesting some 
contrast. Thus they avail themselves of the art of 
the orator — or indeed of the painter — who brings 
a light color into juxtaposition with a dark one, in 


240 


THE SISTERS. 


order to increase its luminous effect. This method and 
style are indeed not amiss, and that was the least of all 
the things that filled me with aversion for this book, in 
which besides, there is many a proverb which may be 
pleasing to kings who desire to have submissive subjects, 
and to fathers who would bring up their sons in obedi- 
ence to themselves and to the laws. Even mothers 
must be greatly comforted by them, who ask no more 
than that their children may get through the world 
without being jostled or pushed, and unmolested if pos- 
sible, that they may live longer than the oaks or ravens, 
and be blessed with the greatest possible number of de- 
scendants. Aye ! these ordinances are indeed precious 
to those who accept them, for they save them the troub- 
le of thinking for themselves. Besides, the great god 
of the Jews is said to have dictated all that this book 
contains to its writers, just as I dictate to Philippus, my 
hump-backed secretary, all that I want said. They re- 
gard everyone as a blasphemer and desecrator who 
thinks that anything written in that roll is erroneous, or 
even merely human. Plato’s doctrines are not amiss, 
and yet Aristotle had criticised them severely and at- 
tempted to confute them. I myself incline to the views 
of the Stagy rite, you to those of the noble Athenian, and 
howjnany good and instructive hours we owe to our 
discussions over this difference of opinion ! And how 
amusing it is to listen when the Platonists on the one 
hand and the Aristotelians on the other, among the 
busy threshers of straw in the Museum at Alexandria, 
fall together by the ears so vehemently that they 
would both enjoy flinging their metal cups at 
each others’ heads— if the loss of the wine, which 
I pay for, were not too serious to bear. We still 


THE SISTERS. 


241 


seek for truth; the Jews believe they possess it en- 
tirely. 

Even those among them who most zealously study 
our philosophers believe this; and yet the writers of 
this book know of nothing but actual present, and their 
god — who will no more endure another god as his 
equal than a citizen^s wife will admit a second woman 
to her husband’s house — is said to have created the 
world out of nothing for no other purpose but to be 
worshipped and feared by its inhabitants. 

‘‘ Now, given a philosophical Jew who knows his 
Empedocles — and I grant there are many such in 
Alexandria, extremely keen and cultivated men — what 
idea can he form in his own mind of ‘ creation out of 
nothing ? * Must he not pause to think very seriously 
when he remembers the fundamental axiom that ‘ out 
of nothing, nothing can come,’ and that nothing which 
has once existed can ever be completely annihilated ? 
At any rate the necessary deduction must be that the 
life of man ends in that nothingness whence everything 
in existence has proceeded. To live and to die according 
to this book is not highly profitable. I can easily rec- 
oncile myself to the idea of annihilation, as a man who 
knows how to value a dreamless sleep after a day brimful 
of enjoyment — as a man who if he must cease to be Eu- 
ergetes would rather spring into the open jaws of noth- 
ingness — but as a philosopher, no, never!” 

“You, it is true,” replied the queen, “cannot help 
measuring all and everything by the intellectual stand- 
ard exclusively ; for the gods, who endowed you with 
gifts beyond a thousand others, struck with blindness or 
deafness that organ which conveys to our minds any re- 
ligious or moral sentiment. If that could see or hear, 

16 


242 


THE SISTERS. 


you could no more exclude the conviction that these 
writings are full of the deepest purport than I can, nor 
doubt that they have a powerful hold on the mind of 
the reader. 

They fetter their adherents to a fixed law, but they 
take all bitterness out of sorrow by teaching that a 
stem father sends us suffering which is represented as 
being sometimes a means of education, and sometimes 
a punishment for transgressing a hard and clearly de- 
fined law. Their god, in his infallible but stern wisdom, 
sets those who cling to him on an evil and stony path 
to prove their strength, and to let them at last reach the 
glorious goal which is revealed to them from the begin- 
ning.” 

‘‘How strange such words as these sound in the 
mouth of a Greek,” interrupted Euergetes. “You cer- 
tainly must be repeating them after the son of the Jew- 
ish high-priest, who defends the cause of his cruel god 
with so much warmth and skill.” 

“ I should have thought,” retorted Cleopatra, “that 
this overwhelming figure of a god would have pleased 
you, of all men ; for I know of no weakness in you. 
Quite lately Dositheos, the Jewish centurion— a very 
learned man — tried to describe to my husband the one 
grea^jod to whom his nation adheres with such obsti- 
nate fidelity, but I could not help thinking of our beau- 
tiful and happy gods as a gay company of amorous 
lords and pleasure-loving ladies, and comparing them 
with this stern and powerful being who, if only he chose 
to do it, might swallow them all up, as Chronos swal- 
lowed his own children.” 

“That,” exclaimed Euergetes, “ is exactly what most 
provokes me in this superstition. It crushes our light- 


THE SISTERS. 


243 


hearted pleasure in life, and whenever I have been read- 
ing the book of the Hebrews everything has come into 
my mind that I least like to think of. It is like an im- 
portunate creditor that reminds us of ‘our forgotten 
debts, and I love pleasure and hate an importunate 
reminder. And you, pretty one, life blooms for you — ” 
But I,” interrupted Cleopatra, “ can admire all 
that is great ; and does it not seem a bold and grand 
thing even to you, that the mighty idea that it is one 
single power that moves and fills the world, should be 
freely and openly declared in the sacred writings of the 
Jews — an idea which the Egyptians carefully wrap up 
and conceal, which the priests of the Nile only venture 
to divulge to the most privileged of those who are initi- 
ated into their mysteries, and which — though the Greek 
philosophers indeed have fearlessly uttered it — has 
never been introduced by any Hellene into the religion 
of the people ? If you were not so averse to the 
Hebrew nation, and if you, like my husband and my- 
self, had diligently occupied yourself with their concerns 
and their belief you would be juster to them and to 
their scriptures, and to the great creating and preserv- 
ing spirit, their god — ” 

‘‘ You are confounding this jealous and most unami- 
able and ill-tempered tyrant of the universe with the 
Absolute of Aristotle ! ” cried Euergetes ; ‘‘ he stigma- 
tises most of what you and I and all rational Greeks 
require for the enjoyment of life as sin — sin upon sin. 
And yet if my easily persuadable brother governed at 
Alexandria, I believe the shrewd priests might succeed 
in stamping him as a worshipper of that magnified 
schoolmaster, who punishes his untutored brood with 
fire and torment.” 


244 


THE SISTERS. 


I cannot deny,” replied Cleopatra, “ that even to 
me the doctrine of the Jews has something very fear- 
ful in it, and that to adopt it seems to me tantamount 
to confiscating all the pleasures of life. — But enough of 
such things, which I should no more relish as a daily 
food than you do. Let us rejoice in that we are Hel- 
lenes, and let us now go to the banquet. I fear you 
have found a very unsatisfactory substitute for what 
you sought in coming up here.” 

‘‘No — no. I feel strangely excited to-day, and my 
work with Aristarchus would have led to no issue. It 
is a pity that we should have begun to talk of that bar- 
barian rubbish ; there are so many other subjects more 
pleasing and more cheering to the mind. Do you re- 
member how we used to read the great tragedians and 
Plato together ? ” 

“And how you would often interrupt our tutor 
Agatharchides in his lectures on geography, to point 
out some mistake ! Did you prosecute those studies in 
Cyrene ? ” 

“ Of course. It really is a pity, Cleopatra, that we 
should no longer live together as we did formerly. 
There is no one, not even Aristarchus, with whom I 
find it more pleasant and profitable to converse and 
discus^ than with you. If only you had lived at Athens 
in the time of Pericles, who knows if you might not 
have been his friend instead of the immortal Aspasia. 
This Memphis is certainly not the right place for you; 
for a few months in the year you ought to come to 
Alexandria, which has now risen to be superior to 
Athens.” 

“I do not know you to-day!” exclaimed Cleopatra, 
gazing at her brother in astonishment. “ I have never 


THE SISTERS. 


245 


heard you speak so kindly and brotherly since the death 
of my mother. You must have some great request to 
make of us.” 

^‘You see how thankless a thing it is for me to let 
my heart speak for once, like other people. I am like 
the boy in the fable when the wolf came! I have so 
often behaved in an unbrotherly fashion that when I 
show the aspect of a brother you think I have put on a 
mask. If I had had anything special to ask of you I 
should have waited till to-morrow, for in this part of 
the country even a blind beggar does not like to refuse 
his lame comrade anything on his birthday.” 

‘‘If only we knew what you wish for! Philometor 
and I would do it more than gladly, although you 
always want something monstrous. Our performance 
to-morrow will at any rate — but — Zoe, pray be good 
enough to retire with the maids; I have a few words to 
say to my brother alone.” 

As soon as the queen’s ladies had withdrawn, she 
went on : 

“ It is a real grief to me, but the best part of the festi- 
val in honor of your birthday will not be particularly 
successful, for the priests of Serapis spitefully refuse us 
the Hebe about whom Lysias has made us so curious. 
Asclepiodorus, it would seem, keeps her in concealment, 
and carries his audacity so far as to tell us that some one 
has carried her off from the temple. He insinuates that 
we have stolen her, and demands her restitution in the 
name of all his associates.” 

“You are doing the man an injustice; our dove has 
followed the lure of a dove-catcher who will not allow 
me to have her, and who is now billing and cooing with 
her in his own nest. I am cheated, but I can scarcely 


246 


THE SISTERS. 


be angry with the Roman, for his claim was of older 
standing than mine.” 

The Roman ? ” asked Cleopatra, rising from her 
seat and turning pale. ‘^But that is impossible. You 
are making common cause with Eulaeus, and want to 
set me against Publius Scipio. At the banquet last night 
you showed plainly enough your ill-feeling against him.” 

‘‘You seem to feel more warmly towards him. But 
before I prove to you that I am neither lying nor joking, 
may I enquire what has this man, this many-named 
Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica, to recommend him 
above any handsome well-grown Macedonian, who is 
resolute in my cause, in the whole corps of your body- 
guard, excepting his patrician pride? He is as bitter 
and ungenial as a sour apple, and all the very best that 
you — a subtle thinker, a brilliant and cultivated philoso- 
pher — can find to say is no more appreciated by his 
meanly cultivated intellect than the odes of Sappho by 
a Nubian boatman.” 

“ It is exactly for that,” cried the queen, “that I value 
him; he is different from all of us; we who — how shall 
I express myself — who always think at second-hand, and 
always set our foot in the rut trodden by the master of 
the school we adhere to; who squeeze our minds into 
the moulds that others have carved out, and when we 
speak hesitate to step beyond the outlines of those figures 
of rhetoric which we learned at school ! Y ou have burst 
these bonds, but even your mighty spirit still shows 
traces of them. Publius Scipio, on the contrary, thinks 
and sees and speaks with perfect independence, and his 
upright sense guides him to the truth without any 
trouble or special training. His society revives me like 
the fresh air that 1 breathe when I come out into the 


THE SISTERS. 


247 


open air from the temple filled with the smoke of in- 
cense — ^lik^ the milk and bread which a peasant offered 
us during our late excursion to the coast, after we had 
been living for a year on nothing but dainties.” 

He has all the admirable characteristics of a child!” 
interrupted Euergetes. “And if that is all that appears 
estimable to you in the Roman your son may soon re- 
place the great Cornelius.” 

“Not soon! no, not till he shall have grown older 
than you are, and a man, a thorough man, from the 
crown of his head to the sole of his foot, for such a man 
is Publius! I believe — ^nay, I am sure — that he is in- 
capable of any mean action, that he could not be false 
in word or even in look, nor feign a sentiment he did 
not feel.” 

“Why so vehement, sister? So much zeal is quite 
unnecessary on this occasion! You know well enough 
that I have my easy days, and that this excitement is 
not good for you; nor has the Roman deserved that you 
should be quite beside yourself for his sake. The fellow 
dared in my presence to look at you as Paris might at 
Helen before he carried her off, and to drink out of your 
cup; and this morning he no doubt did not contradict 
Avhat he conveyed to you last night with his eyes — nay, 
perhaps by his words. And yet, scarcely an hour before, 
he had been to the Necropolis to bear his sweetheart 
away from the temple of the gloomy Serapis into that of 
the smiling Eros.” 

“You shall prove this!” cried the queen in great ex- 
citement. “ Publius is my friend — ” 

“And I am yours! ” 

“You have often proved the reverse, and now again 
with lies and cheating — ” 


248 


THE SISTERS. 


‘‘You seem/’ interrupted Euergetes, “to have 
learned from your unphilosophical favorite to express 
3^our indignation with extraordinary frankness; to-day 
however I am, as I have said, as gentle as a kitten — ” 

“ Euergetes and gentleness ! ” cried Cleopatra with a 
forced laugh. “ No, you only step softly like a cat when 
she is watching a bird, and your gentleness covers some 
ruthless scheme, which we shall find out soon enough 
to our cost. Y ou have been talking with Eulaeus to-day ; 
Eulaeus, who fears and hates Publius, and it seems to 
me that you have hatched some conspiracy against him ; 
but if you dare to cast a single stone in his path, to 
touch a single hair of his head, I will show you that 
even a weak woman can be terrible. Nemesis and the 
Erinnyes from Alecto to Megaera, the most terrible of 
all the gods, are women!” 

Cleopatra had hissed rather than spoken these words, 
with her teeth set with rage, and had raised her small 
fist to threaten. her brother; but Euergetes preserved a 
perfect composure till she had ceased speaking. Then 
he took a step closer to her, crossed his arms over his 
breast, and asked her in the deepest bass of his fine 
deep voice: 

“Are you idiotically in love with this Publius Cor- 
nelius^cipio Nasica, or do you purpose to make use of 
him and his kith and kin in Rome against me?” 

Transported with rage, and without blenching in the 
least at her brother’s piercing gaze, she hastily retorted: 

“Up to this moment only the first perhaps — for what 
is my husband to me? But if you go on as you have 
begun I shall begin to consider how I may make use of 
his influence and of his liking# for me, on the shores of 
the Tiber.” 


THE SISTERS. 


249 


^‘Liking!” cried Euergetes, and he laughed so loud 
and violently that Zoe, who was listening at the tent- 
door, gave a little scream, and Cleopatra drew back a 
step. “And to think that you — the most prudent of the 
prudent — who can hear the dew fall and the grass grow, 
and smell here in Memphis the smoke of every fire that 
is lighted in Alexandria or in Syria or even in Rome — 
that you, my mother’s daughter, should be caught over 
head and ears by a broad-shouldered lout, for all the 
world like a clumsy town-girl or a wench at a loom. 
This ignorant Adonis, who knows so well how to make 
use of his own strange and resolute personality, and of 
the power that stands in his background, thinks no more 
of the hearts he sets in flames than I of the earthen jar 
out of which water is drawn when I am thirsty. You 
think to make use of him by the Tiber; but he has an- 
ticipated you, and learns from you all that is going on 
by the Nile and everything they most want to know in 
the Senate. 

“You do not believe me, for no one ever is ready to 
believe anything that can diminish his self-esteem — and 
why should you believe me? I frankly confess that I 
do not hesitate to lie when I hope to gain more by un- 
truth than by that much-belauded and divine truth, 
which, according to your favorite Plato, is allied to all 
earthly beauty; but it is often just as useless as beauty 
itself, for the useful and the beautiful exclude each other 
in a thousand cases, for ten when they coincide. There, 
the gong is sounding for the third time. If you care for 
plain proof that the Roman, only an hour before he 
visited you this morning, had our little Hebe carried off 
from the temple, and conveyed to the house of Apollo- 
dorus, the sculptor, at Memphis, you have only to come 


250 


the sisters. 


to see me in my rooms early to-morrow after the first 
morning sacrifice. You will at any rate wish to come 
and congratulate me; bring your children with you, as I 
propose making them presents. You might even ques- 
tion the Roman himself at the banquet to-day, but he 
will hardly appear, for the sweetest gifts of Eros are 
bestowed at night, and as the temple of Serapis is closed 
at sunset Publius has never yet seen his Irene in the 
evening. May I expect you and the children after 
morning sacrifice ? ” 

Before Cleopatra had time to answer this question 
another trumpet-blast was heard, and she exclaimed : 

That is Philometor, come to fetch us to the ban- 
quet. I will ere long give the Roman the opportunity 
of defending himself, though — in spite of your accusa- 
tions — I trust him entirely. This morning I asked him 
solemnly whether it was true that he was in love with 
his friend’s charming Hebe, and he denied it in his 
firm and manly way, and his replies were admirable 
and worthy of the noblest mind, when I ventured to 
doubt his sincerity. He takes truth more seriously 
than you do. He regards it not only as beautiful and 
right to be truthful, he says, but as prudent too; for lies 
can only procure us a small short-lived advantage, as 
trans^ry as the mists of night which vanish as soon as 
the sun appears, while truth is like the sunlight itself, 
which as often as it is dimmed by clouds reappears 
again and again. And, he says, what makes a liar so 
particularly contemptible in his eyes is, that to attain his 
end, he must be constantly declaring and repeating the 
horror he has of those who are and do the very same 
thing as he himself. The ruler of a state cannot always 
be truthful, and I often have failed in truth; but my in- 


THE SISTERS. 


251 

tercourse with Publius has aroused much that is good 
in me, and which had been slumbering with closed 
eyes; and if this man should prove to be the same as 
all the rest of you, then I will follow your road, Euer- 
getes, and laugh at virtue and truth, and set the busts 
of Aristippus and Strato on the pedestals where those of 
Zeno and Antisthenes now stand. 

‘^You mean to have the busts of the philosophers 
moved again ?’^ asked King Philometor, who, as he 
entered the tent, had heard the queen’s last words, 
“And Aristippus is to have the place of honor? I have 
no objection — though he teaches that man must subju- 
gate matter and not become subject to it.* This indeed 
is easier to say than to do, and there is no man to whom 
it is more impossible than to a king who has to keep on 
good terms with Greeks and Egyptians, as we have, and 
with Rome as well. And besides all this to avoid quar- 
relling with a jealous brother, who shares our kingdom! 
If men could only know how much they would have to 
do as kings only in reading and writing, they would 
take care never to struggle for a crown! Up to this last 
half hour I have been examining and deciding applica- 
tions and petitions. Have you got through yours, Euer- 
getes ? Even more had accumulated for you than for us.’^ 

“All were settled in an hour,” replied the other 
promptly. “ My eye is quicker than the mouth of your 
reader, and my decisions commonly consist of three 
words while you dictate long treatises to your scribes. 
So I had done when you had scarcely begun, and yet I 
could tell you at once, if it were not too tedious a mat- 
ter, every single case that has come before me for 
months, and explain it in all its details.” 

* “Mihi res, non me rebus subjungere.” 


2^2 


THE SISTERS. 


^'That I could not indeed/' said Philometor mod- 
estly, ^^but I know and admire your swift intelligence 
and accurate memory." 

‘'You see I am more fit for a king than you are;” 
laughed Euergetes. “You are too gentle and debo- 
nair for a throne! Hand over your government to me. 
I will fill your treasury every year with gold. I beg 
you now, come to Alexandria with Cleopatra for good, 
and share with me the palace and the gardens in the 
Bruchion. I will nominate your little Philopator heir 
to the throne, for I have no wish to contract a perma- 
nent tie with any woman, as Clelopatra belongs to you. 
This is a bold proposal, but reflect, Philometor, if you 
were to accept it, how much time it would give you for 
your music, your disputations with the Jews, and all 
your other favorite occupations.” 

“You never know how far you may go with your 
jests!” interrupted Cleopatra. “Besides, you devote 
quite as much time to your studies in philology and 
natural history as he does to music and improving con- 
versations with his learned friends.” 

“Just so,” assented Philometor, “and you may be 
counted among the sages of the Museum with far more 
reason than 1.” 

“But the difference between us,” replied Euergetes, 
“is that I despise all the philosophical prattlers and 
rubbish-collectors in Alexandria almost to the point of 
hating them, while for science I have as great a passion 
as for a lover. You, on the contrary, make much of 
the learned men, but trouble yourself precious little 
about science.” 

“ Drop the subject, pray,” begged Cleopatra. “ I 
believe that you two have never yet been together for 


THE SISTER-S. 


253 


half an hour without Euergetes having begun some dis- 
pute, and Philometor having at last given in, to pacify 
him. Our guests must have been waiting for us a long 
time. Had Publius Scipio made his appearance?” 

‘‘ He had sent to excuse himself,” replied the king 
as he scratched the poll of Cleopatra's parrot, parting 
its feathers with the tips of his fingers. “ Lysias, the 
Corinthian, is sitting below, and he says he does not 
know where his friend can be gone.” 

But we know very well,” said Euergetes, casting 
an ironical glance at the queen. ‘Ht is pleasant to be 
with Philometor and Cleopatra, but better still with 
Eros and Hebe. Sister, you look pale — shall I call for 
Zoe?” 

Cleopatra shook her head in negation, but she 
dropped into a seat, and sat stooping, with her head 
bowed over her knees as if she were dreadfully tired. 
Euergetes turned his back on her, and spoke to his 
brother of indifferent subjects, while she drew lines, 
some straight and some crooked, with her fan-stick 
through the pile of the soft rug on the floor, and sat 
gazing thoughtfully at her feet. As she sat thus her eye 
was caught by her sandals, richly set with precious 
stones, and the slender toes she had so often contem- 
plated with pleasure; but now the sight of them seemed 
to vex her, for in obedience to a swift impulse she 
loosened the straps, pushed off her right sandal with her 
left foot, kicked it from her, and said, turning to her 
husband : 

It is late and I do not feel well, and you may sup 
without me.” 

“By the healing Isis!” exclaimed Philometor, going 
up to her. “You look suffering. Shall I send for the 


254 


THE SISTERS. 


physicians? Is it really nothing more than your usual 
headache ? The gods be thanked ! But that you should 
be unwell just to-day! I had so much to say to you; 
and the chief thing of all was that we are still a long 
way from completeness in our preparations for our per- 
formance. If this luckless Hebe were not — ” 

“She is in good hands,” interrupted Euergetes. 
“The Roman, Publius Scipio, has taken her to a place 
of safety; perhaps in order to present her to me to- 
morrow morning in return for the horses from Cyrene 
which I sent him to-day. How brightly your eyes 
sparkle, sister — with joy no doubt at this good idea. 
This evening, I dare say he is rehearsing the little one in 
her part that she may perform it well to-morrow. If 
we are mistaken — if Publius is ungrateful and proposes 
keeping the dove, then Thais, your pretty Athenian 
waiting-woman, may play the part of Hebe. What do 
you think of that suggestion, Cleopatra?” 

“That I forbid such jesting with me!” cried the 
queen vehemently. “No one has any consideration for 
me — no one pities me, and I suffer fearfully! Euergetes 
scorns me — you, Philometor, would be glad to drag 
me down! If only the banquet is not interfered with, 
and so long as nothing spoils your pleasure! — Whether 
I die-^r no, no one cares!” 

With these words the queen burst into tears, and 
roughly pushed away her husband as he endeavored to 
soothe her. At last she dried her eyes, and said: “Go 
down — the guests are waiting.” 

“ Immediately, my love,” replied Philometor. “ But 
one thing I must tell you, for I know that it will arouse 
your sympathy. The Roman read to you the petition 
for pardon for Philotas, the chief of the Chrematistes 


THE SISTERS. 


255 

and ‘relative of the king/ which contains such serious 
charges against Eulaeus. I was ready with all my heart 
to grant your wish and to pardon the man who is the 
father of these miserable water-bearers; but, before hav- 
ing the decree drawn up, I had the lists of the exiles to 
the gold-mines carefully looked through, and there it 
was discovered that Philotas and his wife have both been 
dead more than half a year. Death has settled this 
question, and I cannot grant to Publius the first service 
he has asked of me — asked with great urgency too. I 
am sorry for this, both for his sake and for that of poor 
Philotas, who was held in high esteem by our mother.” 

“ May the ravens devour them! ” answered Cleopatra, 
pressing her forehead against the ivory frame which sur- 
rounded the stuffed back of her seat. “ Once more I 
beg of you excuse me from all further speech.” This 
time the two kings obeyed her wishes. When Euer- 
getes offered her his hand she said with downcast eyes, 
and poking her fan-stick into the wool of the carpet : 

“I will visit you early to-morrow.” 

“After the first sacrifice,” added Euergetes. “If I 
know you well, something that you will then hear will 
please you greatly; very greatly indeed, I should think. 
Bring the children with you; that I ask of you as a 
birthday request.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

The royal chariot in which Klea was standing, 
wrapped in the cloak and wearing the hat of the cap- 
tain of the civic guard, went swiftly and without stop- 


256 


THE SISTERS. 


ping through the streets of Memphis. As long as she 
saw houses with lighted windows on each side of the 
way, and met riotous soldiers and quiet citizens going 
home from the taverns, or from working late in theit* 
workshops, with lanterns in their hands or carried by 
their slaves — so long her predominant feeling was one 
of hatred to Publius; and mixed with this was a senti- 
ment altogether new to her — a sentiment that made 
her blood boil, and her heart now stand still and 
then again beat wildly — the thought that he might 
be a wretched deceiver. Had he not attempted to 
entrap one of them — whether her sister or herself it 
was all the same — wickedly to betray her, and to get 
her into his power! 

With me,” thought she, “he could not hope to gain 
his evil ends, and when he saw that I knew how to pro- 
tect myself he lured the poor unresisting child away with 
him, in order to ruin her and to drag her into shame and 
misery. Just like Rome herself, who seizes on one 
country after another to make them her own, so is this 
ruthless man. No sooner had that villain Eulaeus’ letter 
reached him, than he thought himself justified in believ- 
ing that I too was spellbound by a glance from his eyes, 
and would spread my wings to fly into his arms ; and so 
he put out his greedy hand to catch me too, and threw 
aside the splendor and delights of a royal banquet to 
hurry by night out into the desert, and to risk a hideous 
death — for the avenging deities still punish the evil- 
doer.” 

By this time she was shrouded in total darkness, for 
the moon was still hidden by black clouds. Memphis 
was already behind her, and the chariot was passing 
through a tall-stemmed palm-grove, where even at mid- 


THE SISTERS. 


257 


day deep shades intermingled with the sunlight. When, 
just at this spot, the thought once more pierced her soul 
that the seducer was devoted to death, she felt as though 
suddenly a bright glaring light had flashed up in her and 
round her, and she could have broken out into a shout 
of joy like one who, seeking retribution for blood, places 
his foot at last on the breast of his fallen foe. She 
clenched her teeth tightly and grasped her girdle, in 
which she had stuck the knife given her by the smith. 

If the charioteer by her side had been Publius, she 
would have stabbed him to the heart with the weapon 
with delight, and then have thrown herself under the 
horses’ hoofs and the brazen wheels of the chariot. 

But no! Still more gladly would she have found 
him dying in the desert, and before his heart had ceased 
to beat have shouted in his ear how much she hated him; 
and then, when his breast no longer heaved a breath — 
then she would have flung herself upon him, and have 
kissed his dimmed eyes. 

Her wildest thoughts of vengeance were as insepa- 
rable from tender pity and the warmest longings of a 
heart overflowing with love, as the dark waters of a river 
are from the brighter flood of a stream with which it 
has recently mingled. All the passionate impulses which 
had hitherto been slumbering in her soul were set free, 
and now raised their clamorous voices as she was whirled 
across the desert through the gloom of night. The 
wishes roused in her breast by her hatred appealing to 
her on one side and her love singing in her ear, in tempt- 
ing flute-tones, on the other, jostled and hustled one 
another, each displacing the other as they crowded her 
mind in wild confusion. As she proceeded on her 
journey she felt that she could have thrown herself like 


^7 


THE SISTERS. 


25S 

a tigress on her victim, and yet — ^like an outcast wdman 
— ^have flung herself at Publius’ knees in supplication for 
the love that was denied her. She had lost all idea of 
time and distance, and started as from a wild and be- 
wildering dream when the chariot suddenly halted, and 
the driver said in his rough tones : 

Here we are, I must turn back again.” 

She shuddered, drew the cloak more closely round 
her, sprang out on to the road, and stood there motion- 
less till the charioteer said: 

I have not spared my horses, my noble gentleman. 
Won’t you give me something to get a drop of wine?” 

Klea’s whole possessions were two silver drachmae, 
of which she herself owned one and the other belonged 
to Irene. On the last anniversary but one of his 
mother’s death, the king had given at the temple a sum 
to be divided among all the attendants, male and female, 
who served Serapis, and a piece of silver had fallen to 
the share of herself and her sister. Klea had them both 
about her in a little bag, which also contained a ring 
that her mother had given her at parting, and the amu- 
let belonging to Serapion. The girl took out the two 
silver coins and gave them to the driver, who, after test- 
ing the liberal gift with his fingers, cried out as he turned 
his horses: 

pleasant night to you, and may Aphrodite and 
all the Loves be favorable ! ” 

‘Hrene’s drachma!” muttered Klea to herself, as 
the chariot rolled away. The sweet form of her sister 
rose before her mind; she recalled the hour when the 
girl — still but a child — ^had entrusted it to her, because 
she lost everything unless Klea took charge of it for 
her. 


THE SISTERS. 


259 


Who will watch her and care for her now ? ” she 
asked herself, and she stood thinking, trying to defend 
herself against the wild wishes which again began 
to stir in her, and to collect her scattered thoughts. 
She had involuntarily avoided the beam of light which 
fell across the road from the tavern-window, and yet 
she could not help raising her eyes and looking along 
it, and she found herself looking through the dark- 
ness which enveloped her, straight into the faces of 
two men whose gaze was directed to the very spot 
where she was standing. And what faces they were 
that she saw! One, a fat face, framed in thick hair 
and a short, thick and ragged beard, was of a dusky 
brown and as coarse and brutal as the other was 
smooth, colorless and lean, cruel and crafty. The eyes 
of the first of these ruffians were prominent, weak 
and bloodshot, with a fixed glassy stare, while those of 
the other seemed always to be on the watch with a rest- 
less and uneasy leer. 

These were Euergetes’ assassins — they must be I 

Spellbound with terror and revulsion she stood quite 
still, fearing only that the ruffians might hear the beat- 
ing of her heart, for she felt as if it were a hammer 
swung up and down in an empty space, and beating 
with loud echoes, now in her bosom and now in her 
throat. 

‘‘The young gentleman must have gone round be- 
hind the tavern — he knows the shortest way to the 
tombs. Let us go after him, and finish off the business 
at once,” said the broad-shouldered villain in a- hoarse 
whisper that broke down every now and then, and 
which seemed to Klea even more repulsive than the 
monster’s face. 


17 


26 o 


THE SISTERS. 


“So that he may hear us go after him — stupid!” 
answered the other. “When he has been waiting for 
his sweetheart about a quarter of an hour I will call his 
name in a woman’s voice^ and at his first step towards 
the desert do you break his neck with the sand-bag. 
We have plenty of time yet, for it must still be a good 
half hour before midnight.” 

“ So much the better,” said the other. “ Our wine- 
jar is not nearly empty yet, and we paid the lazy land- 
lord for it in advance, before he crept into bed.” 

“You shall only drink two cups more,” said the 
punier villain. *^For this time we have to do with a 
sturdy fellow, Setnam is not with us now to lend a hand 
in the work, and the dead meat must show no gaping 
thrusts or cuts. My teeth are not like yours when you 
are fasting — even cooked food must not be too tough 
for them to chew it, now-a-days. If you soak yourself 
in drink and fail in your blow, and I am not ready with 
the poisoned stiletto the thing won’t come off neatly. 
But why did not the Roman let his chariot wait?” 

“Aye! why did he let it go away ?” asked the other 
staring open-mouthed in the direction where the sound 
of wheels was still to be heard. His companion mean- 
while laid his hand to his ear, and listened. Both were 
silent-fbr a few minutes, then the thin one said: 

“The chariot has stopped at the first tavern. So 
much the better. The Roman has valuable cattle in 
his shafts, and at the inn dowm there, there is a shed for 
horses. Here in this hole there is hardly a stall for an 
ass, and nothing but sour wine and mouldy beer. I 
don’t like the rubbish, and save my coin for Alexandria 
and white Mariotic ; that is strengthening and purifies 
the blood. For the present I only wish we were as well 


THE SISTERS. 


261 


off as those horses; they will have plenty of time to 
recover their breath.” 

‘‘Yes, plenty of time,” answered the other with a 
broad grin, and then he with his companion withdrew 
into the room to fill his cup. 

Klea too could hear that the chariot which had 
brought her hither, had halted at the farther tavern, but 
it did not occur to her that the driver had gone in to 
treat himself to wine with half of Irene’s drachma. The 
horses should make up for the lost time, and they could 
easily do it, for when did the king’s banquets ever end 
before midnight? 

*As soon as Klea saw that the assassins were filling 
their earthen cups, she slipped softly on tiptoe behind the 
tavern ; the moon came out from behind the clouds for 
a few minutes, she sought and found the short way by 
the desert-path to the Apis-tombs, and hastened rapidly 
along it. She looked straight before her, for whenever 
she glanced at the road-side, and her eye was caught by 
some dried up shrub of the desert, silvery in the pale 
moonlight, she fancied she saw behind it the face of a 
murderer. 

The skeletons of fallen beasts standing up out of the 
dust, and the bleached jawbones of camels and asses, 
which shone much whiter than the desert-sand on which 
they lay, seemed to have come to life and motion, and 
made her think of the tiger-teeth of the bearded ruffian. 

The clouds of dust driven in her face by the warm 
west wind, which had risen higher, increased her alarm, 
for they were mingled with the colder current of the 
night-breeze; and again and again she felt as if spirits 
were driving her onwards with their hot breath, and 
stroking her face with their cold fingers. Every thing 


262 


THE SISTERS. 


that her senses perceived was transformed by her heated 
imagination into a fearful something; but more fearful 
and more horrible than anything she heard, than any 
phantom that met her eye in the ghastly moonlight, 
were her own thoughts of what was to be done now, in 
the immediate future — of the fearful fate that threatened 
the Roman and Irene; and she was incapable of sepa- 
rating one from the other in her mind, for one influence 
alone possessed her, heart and soul: dread, dread; the 
same boundless, nameless, deadly dread — alike of mor- 
tal peril and irremediable shame, and of the airiest 
phantoms and the merest nothings. 

A large black cloud floated slowly across the moon 
and utter darkness hid everything around, even the un- 
defined forms which her imagination had turned to 
images of dread. She was forced to moderate her pace, 
and find her way, feeling each step; and just as to a 
child some hideous form that looms before him vanishes 
into nothingness when he covers his eyes with his hand, 
so the profound darkness which now enveloped her, 
suddenly released her soul from a hundred imaginary 
terrors. 

She stood still, drew a deep breath, collected the 
whole natural force of her will, and asked herself what 
she could do to avert the horrid issue. 

Since seeing the murderers every thought of rer 
venge, every wish to punish the seducer with death, had 
vanished from her mind ; one desire alone possessed 
her now — that of rescuing him, the man, from the 
clutches of these ravening beasts. Walking slowly on- 
wards she repeated to herself every word she had heard 
that referred to Publius and Irene as spoken by Euer- 
getes, Eulaeus, the recluse, and the assassins, and re- 


THE SISTERS. 


263 


called every step she had taken since she left the temple; 
thus she brought herself back to the consciousness that 
she had come out and faced danger and endured terror, 
solely and exclusively for Irene’s sake. The image of 
her sister rose clearly before her mind in all its bright 
charm, undimmed by any jealous grudge which, in- 
deed, ever since her passion had held her in its toils 
had never for the smallest fraction of a minute pos- 
sessed her. 

Irene had grown up under her eye, sheltered by her 
care, in the sunshine of her love. To take care of her, 
to deny herself, and bear the severest fatigue for her 
had been her pleasure; and now as she appealed to her 
father — as she wont to do — as if he were present, and 
asked him in an inaudible cry: ‘‘Tell me, have I not 
done all for her that I could do ? ” and said to herself 
that he could not possibly answer her appeal but with 
assent, her eyes filled with tears; the bitterness and dis- 
content which had lately filled her breast gradually dis- 
appeared, and a gentle, calm, refreshing sense of satis- 
faction came over her spirit, like a cooling breeze after 
a scorching day. 

As she now again stood still, straining her eyes which 
were growing more accustomed to the darkness, to dis- 
cover one of the temples at the end of the alley of 
sphinxes, suddenly and unexpectedly at her right hand 
a solemn and many-voiced hymn of lamentation fell 
upon her ear. This was from the priests of Qsiris-Apis 
who were performing the sacred mysteries of their god, 
at midnight, on the roof of the temple. She knew the 
hymn well — a lament for the deceased Osiris which im- 
plored him with urgent supplication to break the power 
of death, to rise again, to bestow new light and new 


264 


THE SISTERS. 


vitality on the world and on men, and to vouchsafe to 
all the departed a new existence. 

The pious lament had a powerful effect on her ex- 
cited spirit. Her parents too perhaps had passed through 
death, and were now taking part in the conduct of the 
destiny of the world and of men in union with the life- 
giving God. Her breath came fast, she threw up her 
arms, and, for the first time since in her wrath she had 
turned her back on the holy of holies in the temple of 
Serapis, she poured forth her whole soul with passionate 
fervor in a deep and silent prayer for strength to fulfil 
her duty to the end, — for some sign to show her the 
way to save Irene from misfortune, and Publius from 
death. And as she prayed she felt no longer alone — 
no, it seemed to her that she stood face to face with the 
invincible Power which protects the good, in whom she 
now again had faith, though for Him she knew no name; 
as a daughter, pursued by foes, might clasp her power- 
ful father’s knees and claim his succor. 

She had not stood thus with uplifted arms for many 
minutes when the moon, once more appearing, recalled 
her to herself and to actuality. She now perceived 
close to her, at hardly a hundred paces from where she 
stood, the line of sphinxes by the side of which lay the 
tombs^f Apis near which she was to await Publius. 
Her heart began to beat faster again, and her dread of 
her own weakness revived. In a few minutes she must 
meet the^Roman, and, involuntarily putting up her hand 
to smooth her hair, she was reminded that she still 
wore Glaucus’ hat on her head and his cloak wrapped 
round her shoulders. lifting up her heart again in a 
brief prayer for a calm and collected mind, she slowly 
arranged her dress and its folds, and as she did so the 


THE SISTERS. 


265 


key of the tomb-cave, which she still had about her, 
fell under her hand. An idea flashed through her brain 
— she caught at it, and with hurried breath followed it 
out, till she thought she had now hit upon the right way 
to preserve from death the man who was so rich and 
powerful, who had given her nothing but taken every- 
thing from her, and to whom, nevertheless, she — the 
poor water-bearer whom he had thought to trifle with 
— could now bestow the most precious of the gifts of the 
immortals, namely, life. 

Serapion had said, and she was willing to believe, 
that Publius was not base, and he certainly was not one 
of those who could prove ungrateful to a preserver. 
She longed to earn the right to demand something of 
him, and that could be nothing else but that he should 
give up her sister and bring Irene back to her. 

When could it be that he had come to an under- 
standing with the inexperienced and easily wooed 
maiden? How ready she must have been to clasp the 
hand held out to -her by this man! Nothing surprised 
her in Irene, the child of the present; she could com- 
prehend too that Irene’s charm might quickly win the 
heart even of a grave and serious man. 

And yet — in all the processions it was never Irene 
that he had gazed at, but always herself, and how came it 
to pass that he had given a prompt and ready assent 
to the false invitation to go out to meet her in the 
desert at midnight ? Perhaps she was still nearer to his 
heart than Irene, and if gratitude drew him to her with 
fresh force then — aye then — he might perhaps woo her, 
and forget his pride and her lowly position, and ask her 
to be his wife. 

She thought this out fully, but before she had 


266 


THE SISTERS. 


reached the half circle enclosed by the Philoso- 
phers’ busts the question occurred to her mind. And 
Irene ? 

Had she gone with him and quitted her without 
bidding her farewell because the young heart was pos- 
sessed with a passionate love for Publius — who was in- 
deed the most lovable of men? And he? Would he 
indeed, out of gratitude for what she hoped to do for 
him, make up his mind, if she demanded it, to make 
her Irene his v;ife — the poor but more than lovely 
daughter of a noble house? 

And if this were possible, if these two could be 
happy in love and honor, should she Klea come 
between the couple to divide them ? Should she jeal- 
ously snatch Irene from his arms and carry her back to 
the gloomy temple which now — after she had fluttered 
awhile in sportive freedom in the sunny air — would cer- 
tainly seem to her doubly sinister and unendurable? 
Should she be the one to plunge Irene into misery — 
Irene, her child, the treasure confided to her care, whom 
she had sworn to cherish? 

‘‘No, and again no,” she said resolutely. “She was 
bom for happiness, and I for endurance, and if I dare 
beseech thee to grant me one thing more, O thou infinite 
Divinity! it is that Thou wouldst cut out from my soul 
this love which is eating into my heart as though it 
were rotten wood, and keep me far from envy and jeal- 
ousy when I see her happy in his arms. It is hard — 
very hard to drive one’s own heart out into the desert 
in order that spring may blossom in that of another: 
but it is well so — and my mother would commend me 
and my father would say I had acted after his own 
heart, and in obedience to the teaching of the great men 


THE SISTERS. 267 

on these pedestals. Be still, be still my aching heart— 
there — that is right!’’ 

Thus reflecting she went past the busts of Zeno and 
Chrysippus, glancing at their features distinct in the 
moonlight: and her eyes falling on the smooth slabs of 
stone with which the open space was paved, her own 
shadow caught her attention, black and sharply defined, 
and exactly resembling that of some man travelling 
from one town to another in his cloak and broad- 
brimmed hat. 

‘‘Just like a man!” she muttered to herself; and as, 
at the same moment, she saw a figure resembling her 
own, and, like herself, wearing a hat, appear near the 
entrance to the tombs, and fancied she recognized it as 
Publius, a thought, a scheme, flashed through her ex- 
cited brain, which at first appalled her, but in the next 
instant filled her with the ecstasy which an eagle may 
feel when he spreads his mighty wings and soars above 
the dust of the earth into the pure and infinite ether. 
Her heart beat high, she breathed deeply and slowly, 
but she advanced to meet the Roman, drawn up to her 
full height like a queen, who goes forward to receive 
some equal sovereign ; her hat, which she had taken off, 
in her left hand, and the smith’s key in her right — 
straight on towards the door of the Apis-tombs. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The man whom Klea had seen was in fact none 
other than Publius. He was now at the end of a busy 
day, for after he had assured himself that Irene h?d 


268 


THE SISTERS. 


been received by the sculptor and his wife, and wel- 
comed as if she were their own child, he had returned 
to his tent to write once more a dispatch to Rome. 
But this he could not accomplish, for his friend Lysias 
paced restlessly up and down by him as he sat, and as 
often as he put the reed to the papyrus disturbed him 
with enquiries about the recluse, the sculptor, and their 
rescued protegee. 

When, finally, the Corinthian desired to know 
whether he, Publius, considered Irene’s eyes to be 
brown or blue, he had sprung up impatiently, and ex- 
claimed indignantly : 

And supposing they were red or green, what would 
it matter to me !” 

Lysias seemed pleased rather than vexed with this 
reply, and he was on the point of confessing to his 
friend that Irene had caused in his heart a perfect con- 
flagration — as of a forest or a city in flames — when a 
master of the horse had appeared from Euergetes, to 
present the four splendid horses from Cyrene, which his 
master requested the noble Roman Publius Cornelius 
Scipio Nasica to accept in token of his friendship. 

The two friends, who both were judges and lovers 
of horses, spent at least an hour in admiring the fine 
builds and easy paces of these valuable beasts. Then 
came a chamberlain from the queen to invite Publius to 
go to her at once. 

The Roman followed the messenger after a short 
delay in his tent, in order to take with him the gems 
representing the marriage of Hebe, for on his way from 
the sculptor’s to the palace it had occurred to him that 
he would offer them to the queen, after he had informed 
her of the parentage of the two water-carriers. Publius 


THE SISTERS. 


269 


had keen eyes, and the queen’s weaknesses had not 
escaped him, but he had never suspected her of being 
capable of abetting her licentious brother in forcibly pos- 
sessing himself of the innocent daughter of a noble 
father. He now purposed to make her a present — as in 
some degree a substitute for the representation his 
friend had projected, and which had come to nothing— 
of the picture which she had hoped to find pleasure in 
reproducing. 

Cleopatra received him on her roof, a favor of which 
few could boast ; she allowed him to sit at her feet while 
she reclined on her couch, and gave him to understand, 
by every glance of her eyes and every word she spoke, 
that his presence was a happiness to her, and filled her 
with passionate delight. Publius soon contrived to lead 
the conversation to the subject of the innocent parents 
of the water-bearers, who had been sent off to the gold- 
mines; but Cleopatra interrupted his speech in their 
favor and asked him plainly, undisguisedly, and without 
any agitation, whether it was true that he himself desired 
to win the youthful Hebe. And she met his absolute 
denial with such persistent and repeated expressions of 
disbelief, assuming at last a tone of reproach, that he 
grew vexed and broke out into a positive declaration 
that he regarded lying as unmanly and disgraceful, and 
could endure any insult rather than a doubt of his 
veracity. 

Such a vehement and energetic remonstrance from a 
man she had distinguished was a novelty to Cleopatra, 
and she did not take it amiss, for she might now be- 
lieve — what she much wished to believe — that Publius 
wanted to have nothing to do with the fair Hebe, that 
Eulaeus had slandered her friend, and that Zoe had been 


270 


THE SISTERS. 


in error when, after her vain expedition to the temple — 
from which she had then just returned — she had told 
her that the Roman was Irene’s lover, and must at the 
earliest hour have betrayed to the girl herself, or to the 
priests in the Serapeum, what was their purpose regard- 
ing her. 

In the soul of this noble youth there was nothing 
false — there could be nothing false ! And she, who was 
accustomed never to hear a word from the men who 
surrounded her without asking herself with what aim it 
was spoken, and how much of it was dissimulation or 
downright falsehood, trusted the Roman, and was so 
happy in her trust that, full of gracious gaiety, she her- 
self invited Publius to give her the recluse’s petition to 
read. The Roman at once gave her the roll, saying 
that since it contained so much that was sad, much as 
he hoped she would make herself acquainted with it, he 
felt himself called upon also to give her some pleasure, 
though in truth but a very small one. Thus speaking 
he produced the gems, and she showed as much delight 
over this little work of art as if, instead of being a rich 
queen and possessed of the finest engraved gems in the 
world, she were some poor girl receiving her first gift of 
some long-desired gold ornament. 

‘Exquisite, splendid!” she cried again and again. 
^^And besides, they are an imperishable memorial of 
you, dear friend, and of your visit to Egypt. I will have 
them set with the most precious stones ; even diamonds 
will seem worthless to me compared with this gift from 
you. This has already decided my sentence as to 
Eulaeus and his unhappy victims before I read your pe- 
tition. Still I will read that roll, and read it attentively, 
for my husband regards Eulaeus as a useful — almost an 


THE SISTERS. 


271 


indispensable — tool, and I must give good reasons for 
my verdict and for the pardon. I believe in the inno- 
cence of the unfortunate Philotas, but if he had commit- 
ted a hundred murders, after this present I would pro- 
cure his freedom all the same.’’ 

The words vexed the Roman, and they made her 
who had spoken them in order to please him appear to 
him at that moment more in the light of a corruptible 
official than of a queen. He found the time hang heavy 
that he spent with Cleopatra, who, in spite of his re- 
serve, gave him to understand with more and more in- 
sistence how warmly she felt towards him ; but the more 
she talked and the more she told him, the more silent 
he became, and he breathed a sigh of relief when her 
husband at last appeared to fetch him and Cleopatra 
away to their mid-day meal. 

At table Philometor promised to take up the cause 
of Philotas and his wife, both of whom he had known, 
and whose fate had much grieved him ; still he begged 
his wife and the Roman not to bring Eulaeus to justice 
till Euergetes should have left Memphis , for, during his 
brother’s presence, beset as he was with difficulties, he 
could not spare him; and if he might judge of Publius 
by himself he cared far more to reinstate the innocent 
in their rights, and to release them from their miserable 
lot — a lot of which he had only learned the full horrors 
quite recently from his tutor Agatharchides — than to 
drag a wretch before the judges to-morrow or the day 
after, who was unworthy of his anger, and who at any 
rate should not escape punishment. 

Before the letter from Asclepiodorus — stating the 
mistaken hypothesis entertained by the priests of Sera- 
pis that Irene had been carried off by the king’s order 


272 


THE SISTERS. 


— could reach the palace, Publius had found an oppor- 
tunity of excusing himself and quitting the royal couple. 

Not even Cleopatra herself could raise any objection 
to his distinct assurance that he must write to Rome to- 
day on matters of importance. Philometor’s favor was 
easy to win, and as soon as he was alone with his wife 
he could not find words enough in praise of the noble 
qualties of the young man, who seemed destined in the 
future to be of the greatest service to him and to his in- 
terests at Rome, and whose friendly attitude towards 
himself was one more advantage that he owed — as he 
was happy to acknowledge — to the irresistible talents 
and grace of his wife. 

When Publius had quitted the palace and hurried 
back to his tent, he felt like a journeyman returning 
from a hard day’s labor, or a man acquitted from a 
serious charge ; like one who had lost his way, and has 
found the right road again. 

The heavy air in the arbors and alleys of the em- 
bowered gardens seemed to him easier to breathe than 
the cool breeze that fanned Cleopatra’s raised roof. He 
felt the queen’s presence to be at once exciting and op- 
pressive, and in spite of all that was flattering to him- 
self in the advances made to him by the powerful prin- 
cess^t was no more gratifying to his taste than an ele- 
gantly prepared dish served on gold plate, which we are 
forced to partake of though poison may be hidden in it, 
and which when at last we taste it is sickeningly sweet. 

Publius was an honest man, and it seemed to him — 
as to all who resemble him — that love which was forced 
upon him was like a decoration of honor bestowed by 
a hand which we do not respect, and that we would 
rather refuse than accept ; or like praise out of all pro- 


THE SISTERS. 


273 


portion to our merit, which may indeed delight a fool, 
but rouses the indignation rather than the gratitude of 
a wise man. It struck him too that Cleopatra intended 
to make use of him, in the first place as a toy to amuse 
herself, and then as a useful instrument or underling, 
and this so gravely incensed and discomfited the serious 
and sensitive young man that he would willingly have 
quitted Memphis and Egypt at once and without any 
leave-taking. However, it was not quite easy for him 
to get away, for all his thoughts of Cleopatra were 
mixed up with others of Klea, as inseparably as when 
we picture to ourselves the shades of night, the tender 
light of the calm moon rises too before our fancy. 

Having saved Irene, his present desire was to restore 
her parents to liberty; to quit Egypt without having 
seen Klea once more seemed to him absolutely impossi- 
ble. He endeavored once more to revive in his mind 
the image of her proud tall figure; he felt he must tell 
her that she was beautiful, a woman worthy of a king — 
that he was her friend and hated injustice, and was 
ready to sacrifice much for justice’s sake and for her own 
in the service of her parents and herself To-day again, 
before the banquet, he purposed to go to the temple, 
and to entreat the recluse to help him to an interview 
with his adopted daughter. 

If only Klea could know beforehand what he had 
been doing for Irene and their parents she must surely 
let him see that her haughty eyes could look kindly 
on him, muse offer him her hand in farewell, and then 
he should clasp it in both his, and press it to his breast. 
Then would he tell her in the warmest and most inspired 
words he could command how happy he was to have 
seen her and known her, and how painful it was to bid 

18 


274 


THE SISTERS. 


her farewell; perhaps she might leave her hand in his, 
and give him some kind word in return. One kind 
^ord — one phrase of thanks from Klea’s firm but beau- 
tiful mouth — seemed to him of higher value than a kiss 
or an embrace from the great and wealthy Queen of 
Egypt. 

When Publius was excited he could be altogether 
carried away by a sudden sweep of passion, but his 
imagination was neither particularly lively nor glowing. 
While his horses were being harnessed, and then while he 
was driving to the Serapeum, the tall form of the water- 
bearer was constantly before him ; again and again he 
pictured himself holding her hand instead of the reins, 
and while he repeated to himself all he meant to say at 
parting, and in fancy heard her thank him with a trem- 
bling voice for his valuable help, and say that she would 
never forget him, he felt his eyes moisten — unused as 
they had been to tears for many years. He could not 
help recalling the day when he had taken leave of his 
family to go to the wars for the first time. Then it had 
not been his own eyes but his mother’s that had sparkled 
through tears, and it struck him that Klea, if she could 
be compared to any other woman, was most like to that 
noble matron to whom he owed his life, and that she 
might stand by the side of the daughter of the great 
Scipio Africanus like a youthful Minerva by the side of 
Juno, the stately mother of the gods. 

His disappointment was great when he found the 
door of the temple closed, and was forced to return to 
Memphis without having seen either Klea or the recluse. 

He could try again to-morrow to accomplish what 
had been impossible to-day, but his wish to see the girl 
he loved, rose to a torturing longing, and as he sat once 


THE SISTERS. 


■275 


more in his tent to finish his second despatch to Rome 
the thought of Klea came again to disturb his serious 
work. Twenty times he started up to collect his 
thoughts, and as often flung away his reed as the figure 
of the water-bearer interposed between him and the 
writing under his hand; at last, out of patience with 
himself, he struck the table in front of him with some 
force, set his fists in his sides hard enough to hurt him- 
self, and held them there for a minute, ordering himself 
firmly and angrily to do his duty before he thought of 
anything else. 

His iron will won the victory; by the time it was 
growing dusk the despatch was written. He was in the 
very act of stamping the wax of the seal with the signet 
of his family — engraved on the sardonyx of his ring — 
when one of his servants announced a black slave who 
desired to speak with him. Publius ordered that he 
should be admitted, and the negro handed him the tile 
on which Eulseus had treacherously written Klea^s invi- 
tation to meet her at midnight near the Apis-tombs. 
His enemy’s crafty-looking emissary seemed to the 
young man as a messenger from the gods; in a transport 
of haste and without the faintest shadow of a suspicion 
he wrote, “I will be there,” on the luckless piece of 
clay. 

Publius was anxious to give the letter to the Senate, 
which he had just finished, with his own hand, and pri- 
vately, to the messenger who had yesterday brought him 
the despatch from Rome; and as he would rather have 
set aside an invitation to carry off a royal treasure that 
same night than have neglected to meet Klea, he could 
not in any case be a guest at the king’s banquet, though 
Cleopatra would expect to see him there in accordance 


276 


THE SISTERS. 


with his promise. At this juncture he was annoyed to 
miss his friend Lysias, for he wished to avoid offending 
the queen; and the Corinthian, who at this moment was 
doubtless occupied in some perfectly useless manner, was 
as clever in inventing plausible excuses as he himself was 
dull in such matters. He hastily wrote a few lines to 
the friend who shared his tent, requesting him to inform 
the king that he had been prevented by urgent business 
from appearing among his guests that evening; then he 
threw on his cloak, put on his travelling-hat which shaded 
his face, and proceeded on foot and without any servant 
to the harbor, with his letter in one hand and a staff in 
the other. 

The soldiers and civic guards which filled the courts 
of the palace, taking him for a messenger, did not chal- 
lenge him as he walked swiftly and firmly on, and so, 
without being detained or recognized, he reached the 
inn by the harbor, where he was forced to wait an hour 
before the messenger came home from the gay strangers’ 
quarter where he had gone to amuse himself He had 
a great deal to talk of with this man, who was to set out 
next morning for Alexandria and Rome; but Publius 
hardly gave himself the necessary time, for he meant to 
start for the meeting place in the Necropolis indicated 
by Riea, and well-known to himself, a full hour before 
midnight, although he knew that he could reach his 
destination in a very much shorter time. 

The sun seems to move too slowly to those who long 
and wait, and a planet would be more likely to fail in 
punctuality than a lover when called by love. 

In order to avoid observation he did not take a 
chariot but a strong mule which the host of the inn lent 
him with pleasure; for the Roman was so full of happy 


THE SISTERS. 


277 

excitement in the hope of meeting Klea that he had 
slipped a gold piece into the small, lightly-closed fingers 
of the innkeeper’s pretty child, v/hich lay asleep on a 
bench by the side of the table, besides paying double as 
much for the country wine he had drunk as if it had 
been fine Falernian and without asking for his reckoning. 
The host looked at him in astonishment when, finally, 
he sprang with a grand leap on to the back of the tall 
beast, without laying his hand on it; and it seemed even 
to Publius himself as though he had never since boy- 
hood felt so fresh, so extravagantly happy as at this 
moment. 

The road to the tombs from the harbor was a differ- 
ent one to that which led thither from the king’s palace, 
and which Klea had taken, nor did it lead past the tav- 
ern in which she had seen the murderers. By day it 
was much used by pilgrims, and the Roman could not 
miss it even by night, for the mule he was riding knew 
it well. That he had learned, for in answer to his ques- 
tion as to what the innkeeper kept the beast for he had 
said that it was wanted every day to carry pilgrims ar- 
riving from Upper Egypt to the temple of Serapis and 
the tombs of the sacred bulls ; he could therefore very 
decidedly refuse the host’s offer to send a driver with the 
beast. All who saw him set out supposed that he was 
returning to the city and the palace. 

Publius rode through the streets of the city at an 
easy trot, and, as the laughter of soldiers carousing in a 
tavern fell upon his ear, he could have joined heartily 
in their merrinient. But when the silent desert lay 
around him, and the stars showed him that he would 
be much too early at the appointed place, he brought 
the mule to a slower pace, and the nearer he came to 


2jS 


THE SISTERS. 


his destination the graver he grew, and the stronger his 
heart beat. It must be something important and pres- 
sing indeed that Klea desired to tell him in such a place 
and at such an hour. Or was she like a thousand other 
women — was he now on the way to a lover’s meeting 
with her, who only a few days before had responded to 
his glance and accepted his violets ? 

This thought flashed once through his mind with 
importunate distinctness, but he dismissed it as absurd 
and unworthy of himself. A king would be more likely 
to offer to share his throne with a beggar than this girl 
would be to invite him to enjoy the sweet follies of love- 
making with her in a secret spot. 

Of course she wanted above all things to acquire 
some certainty as to her sister’s fate, perhaps too to 
speak to him of her parents; still, she would hardly 
have made up her mind to invite him if she had not 
learned to trust him, and this confidence filled him with 
pride, and at the same time with an eager longing to 
see her, which seemed to storm his heart with more 
violence with every minute that passed. 

While the mule sought and found its way in the 
deep darkness with slow and sure steps, he gazed up at 
the firmament, at the play of the clouds which now 
covert the moon with their black masses, and now 
parted, floating off in white sheeny billows while the 
silver crescent of the moon showed between them like 
a swan against the dark mirror of a lake. 

And all the time he thought incessantly of Klea — 
thinking in a dreamy way that he saw her before him, 
but different and taller than before, her form growing 
more and more before his eyes till at last it was so tall 
that her head touched the sky, the clouds seemed to be 


THE SISTERS. 


279 

her veil, and the moon a brilliant diadem in her abun- 
dant dark hair. Powerfully stirred by this vision he let 
the bridle fall on the mule’s neck, and spread open his 
arms to the beautiful phantom, but as he rode forwards 
it ever retired, and when presently the west wind blew 
the sand in his face, and he had to cover his eyes with 
his hand it vanished entirely, and did not return before 
he found himself at the Apis-tombs. 

He had hoped to find here a soldier or a watchman 
to whom he could entrust the beast, but when the mid- 
night chant of the priests of the temple of Osiris-Apis 
had died away not a sound was to be heard far or near; 
all that lay around him was as still and as motionless 
as though all that had ever lived there were dead. Or 
had some demon robbed him of his hearing ? He could 
hear the rush of his own swift pulses in his ears — not 
the faintest sound besides. 

Such silence is there nowhere but in the city of the 
dead and at night, nowhere but in the desert. 

He tied the mule’s bridle to a stela of granite cov- 
ered with inscriptions, and went forward to the ap- 
pointed place. Midnight must be past — that he saw 
by the position of the moon, and he was beginning to 
ask himself whether he should remain standing where 
he was or go on to meet the water-bearer when he heard 
first a light footstep, and then saw a tall erect figure 
wrapped in a long mantle advancing straight towards 
him along the avenue of sphinxes. Was it a man or a 
woman — was it she whom he expected ? and if it were 
she, was there ever a woman who had come to meet a 
lover at an assignation with so measured, nay so solemn, 
a step? Now he recognized her face — was it the pale 
moonlight that made it look so bloodless and marble- 


28 o 


THE SISTERS. 


white? There was something rigid in her features, and 
yet they had never — not even when she blushingly ac- 
cepted his violets — looked to him so faultlessly beauti- 
ful, so regular and so nobly cut, so dignified, nay im- 
pressive. 

For fully a minute the two stood face to face, speech- 
less and yet ’quite near to each other. Then Publius 
broke the silence, uttering with the warmest feeling and 
yet with anxiety in his deep, pure voice, only one single 
word; and the word was her name ‘‘Klea.’’ 

The music of this single word stirred the girl’s heart 
like a message and blessing from heaven, like the sweet- 
est harmony of the siren’s song, like the word of acquit- 
tal from a judge’s lips when the verdict is life or death, 
and her lips were already parted to say ‘ Publius ’ in a 
tone no less deep and heartfelt — but, with all the force 
of her soul, she restrained herself, and said softly and 
quickly : 

You are here at a late hour, and it is well that you 
have come.” 

“You sent for me,” replied the Roman. 

“It was another that did that, not I,” replied Klea 
in a slow dull tone, as if she were lifting a heavy 
weigl^ and could hardly draw her breath. “Now — 
follow me, for this is not the place to explain every- 
thing in.” 

With these words Klea went towards the locked 
door of the Apis-tombs, and tried, as she stood in front 
of it, to insert into the lock the key that Krates had 
given her; but the lock was still so new, and her fin- 
gers shook so much, that she could not immediately 
succeed. Publius meanwhile was standing close by her 
side, and as he tried to help her his fingers touched hers. 


THE SISTERS. 


281 


And when he — certainly not by mistake — laid his strong 
and yet trembling hand on hers, she let it stay for a 
moment, for she felt as if a tide of warm mist rose up 
in her bosom dimming her perceptions, and paralyzing 
her will and blurring her sight. 

‘‘Klea,’' he repeated, and he tried to take her left 
hand in his own; but she, like a person suddenly aroused 
to consciousness after a short dream, immediately with- 
drew the hand on which his was resting, put the key 
into the lock, opened the door, and exclaimed in a voice 
of almost stern command, Go in first. 

Publius obeyed and entered the spacious antecham- 
ber of the venerable cave, hewn out of the rock and 
now dimly lighted. A curved passage of which he 
could not see the end lay before him, and on both 
sides, to the right and left of him, opened out the 
chambers in which stood the sarcophagi of the deceased 
sacred bulls. Over each of the enormous stone coffins 
a lamp burnt day and night, and wherever a vault stood 
open their glimmer fell across the deep gloom of the 
cave, throwing a bright beam of light on the dusky 
path that led into the heart of the rock, like a carpet 
woven of rays of light. 

What place was this that Klea had chosen to speak 
with him in. 

But though her voice sounded firm, she herself was 
not cool and insensible as Orcus — which this place, 
which was filled with the fumes of incense and weighed 
upon his senses, much resembled — for he had felt her 
fingers tremble under his, and when he went up to her, 
to help her, her heart beat no less violentlv and rapidly 
than his own. Ah! the man who should succeed in 
touching that heart of hard, but pure and precious crys- 


282 


THE SISTERS. 


tal would indeed enjoy a glorious draught of the most 
perfect bliss. 

‘•This is our destination,” said Klea; and then she 
went on in short broken sentences. “Remain where 
you are. Leave me this place near the door. Now, 
answer me first one question. My sister Irene has 
vanished from the temple. Did you cause her to be 
carried off? ” 

“I did,” replied Publius eagerly. “She desired me 
to greet you from her, and to tell you how much she 
likes her new friends. When I shall have told you — ” 

“ Not now” interrupted Klea excitedly. “Turn round 
— there where you see the lamp-light.” Publius did as 
he was desired, and a slight shudder shook even his 
bold heart, for the girl’s sayings and doings seemed to 
him not solemn merely, but mysterious like those of a 
prophetess. A violent crash sounded through the silent 
and sacred place, and loud echoes were tossed from 
side to side, ringing ominously throughout the grotto. 
Publius turned anxiously round, and his eye, seeking 
Klea, found her no more; then, hurrying to the door 
of the cave, he heard her lock it on the outside. 

The water-bearer had escaped him, had flung the 
heavy door to, and imprisoned him; and this idea was 
to the^oman so degrading and unendurable that, lost 
to every feeling but rage, Avounded pride, and the wild 
desire to be free, he kicked the door with all his might, 
and called out angrily to Klea: 

“ Open this door — I command you. Let me free 
this moment or, by all the gods — ” 

He did not finish his threat, for in the middle of the 
right-hand panel of the door a small wicket was opened 
through which the priests were wont to puff incense into 


THE SISTERS. 


283 


the tomb of the sacred bulls — and twice, thrice, finally, 
when he still would not be pacified, a fourth time, Klea 
called out to him : 

Listen to me — listen to me, Publius.’' 

Publius ceased storming, and she went on : 

‘‘ Do not threaten me, for you will certainly repent 
it when you have heard what I have to tell you. Do 
not interrupt me ; I may tell you at once this door is 
opened every day before sunrise, so your imprisonment 
will not last long; and you must submit to it, for I shut 
you in to save your life — yes, your life which was in 
danger. Do you think my anxiety was folly? No, 
Publius, it is only too well founded, and if you, as a 
man, are strong and bold, so am I as a woman. I 
- never was afraid of an imaginary nothing. Judge 
yourself whether I was not right to be afraid for you. 

King Euergetes and Eulaeus have bribed two 
hideous monsters to murder you. When I went to seek 
out Irene I overheard all, and I have seen with my own 
eyes the two horrible wolves who are lurking to fall 
upon you, and heard with these ears their scheme for 
doing it. I never wrote the note on the tile which was 
signed with my name; Eulaeus did it, and you took his 
bait and came out into the desert by night. In a few 
minutes the ruffians will have stolen up to this place to 
seek their victim, but they will not find you, Publius, 
for I have saved you — I, Klea, whom you first met with 
smiles — whose sister you have stolen away — the same 
Klea that you a minute since were ready to threaten. 
Now, at once, I am going into the desert, dressed like 
a traveller in a coat and hat, so that in the doubtful light 
of the moon I may easily be taken for you — going to 
give my weary heart as a prey to the assassins’ knife.”' 


THE SISTERS. 


*284 

You are mad!” cried Publius, and he flung himself 
Avith his whole weight on the door, and kicked it with 
all his strength. “ What you purpose is pure madness — 
open the door, I command you ! However strong the 
villains may be that Euergetes has bribed, I am man 
enough to defend myself” 

“You are unarmed, Publius, and they have cords 
and daggers.” 

“ Then open the door, and stay here with me till 
day dawns. It is not noble, it is wicked to cast away 
your life. Open the door at once, I entreat you, I 
command you ! ” 

At any other time the words would not have failed 
of their effect on Klea’s reasonable nature, but the fear- 
ful storm of feeling which had broken over her during 
the last few hours had borne away in its whirl all her 
composure and self-command. The one idea, the one 
resolution, the one desire, which wholly possessed her 
was to close the life that had been so Tull of self-sacrifice 
by the greatest sacrifice of all — that of life itself, and not 
only in order to secure Irene’s happiness and to save 
the Roman, but because it pleased her — her father’s 
daughter — to make a noble end; because she, the 
maid^ would fain show Publius what a woman might 
be capable of who loved him above all others; because, 
at this moment, death did not seem a misfortune; and 
her mind, overwrought by hours of terrific tension, could 
not free itself from the fixed idea that she would and 
must sacrifice herself. 

She no longer thought these things — she was pos- 
sessed by them; they had the mastery, and as a mad- 
man feels forced to repeat the same words again and 
again to himself, so no prayer, no argument at this mo- 


THE SISTERS. 


285 


merit would have prevailed to divert her from her pur- 
pose of giving up her young life for Publius and Irene. 

She contemplated this resolve with affection and 
pride as justifying her in looking up to herself as to 
some nobler creature. She turned a deaf ear to the 
Roman’s entreaty, and said in a tone of which the soft- 
ness surprised him : 

‘‘Be silent Publius, and hear me further. You too 
are noble, and certainly you owe me some gratitude for 
having saved your life.” 

“ I owe you much, and I will pay it,” cried Publius, 
“as long as there is breath in this body — ^but open the 
door, I beseech you, I implore you — ” 

“Hear me to the end, time presses; hear me out, 
Publius. My sister Irene went away with you. I need 
say nothing about her beauty, but how bright, how 
sweet her nature is you do not know, you cannot know,, 
but you will find out. She, you must be told, is as 
poor as I am, but the child of freeborn and noble 
parents. Now swear to me, swear — no, do not inter- 
rupt me — swear by the head of your father that you will 
never abandon her, that you will never behave to her 
otherwise than as if she were the daughter of your dear- 
est friend or of your own brother.” 

“ I swear it and I will keep my oath — ^by the life of 
the man whose head is more sacred to me than the 
names of all the gods. But now I beseech you, I com- 
mand you open this door, Klea — that I may not lose 
you — that I may tell you that my whole heart is yours, 
and yours alone — that I love you, love you unbound- 
edly.” 

“ I have your oath,” cried the girl in great excite- 
ment, for she could now see a shadow moving back- 


286 


THE SISTERS. 


wards and forwards at some distance in the desert. 
^‘You have sworn by the head of your father. Never 
let Irene repent having gone with you, and love her 
always as you fancy now, in this moment, that you love 
me, your preserver. Remember both of you the hap- 
less Klea who would gladly have lived for you, but who 
now gladly dies for you. Do not forget me, Publius, 
for I have never but this once opened my heart to love, — 
but I have loved you Publius, with pain and torment, and 
with sweet delight — as no other woman ever yet revelled 
in the ecstasy of love or was consumed in its torments.” 
She almost shouted the last words at the Roman as if 
she were chanting a hymn of triumph, beside herself, 
forgetting everything and as if intoxicated. 

Why was he now silent, why had he nothing to 
answer, since she had confessed to him the deepest 
secret of her breast, and allowed him to look into the 
inmost sanctuary of her heart? A rush of burning 
words from his lips would have driven her off at once 
to the desert and to death; his silence held her back — 
it puzzled her and dropped like cool rain on the soaring 
flames of her pride, fell on the raging turmoil of her 
soul like oil on troubled water. She could not part 
from him thus, and her lips parted to call him once more 
by his^ name. 

While she had been making confession of her love to 
the Roman as if it were her last will and testament, 
Publius felt like a man dying of thirst, who has been 
led to a flowing well only to be forbidden to moisten his 
lips with the limpid fluid. His soul was filled with pas- 
sionate rage approaching to despair, and as with rolling 
eyes he glanced round his prison an iron crow-bar lean- 
ing against the wall met his gaze; it had been used by 


THE SISTERS. 


287 


the workmen to lift the sarcophagus of the last deceased 
Apis into its right place. He seized upon this tool, as 
a drowning man flings himself on a floating plank : still 
he heard Klea’s last words, and did not lose one of 
them, though the sweat poured from his brow as he in- 
serted the metal lever like a wedge between the two 
halves of the door, just above the threshold. 

All was now silent outside; perhaps the distracted 
girl was already hurrying towards the assassins — and 
the door was fearfully heavy and would not open nor 
yield. But he must force it — he flung himself on the 
earth and thrust his shoulder under the lever, pushing 
his whole body against the iron bar, so that it seemed 
to him that every joint threatened to give way and 
every sinew to crack; the door rose — once more he put 
forth the whole strength of his manly vigor, and now 
the seam in the wood cracked, the door flew open, and 
Klea, seized with terror, flew off and away — into the 
desert — straight towards the murderers. 

Publius leaped to his feet and flung himself out of 
his prison; as he saw Klea escape he flew after her 
with hasty leaps, and caught her in a few steps, for her 
mantle hindered her in running, and when she would 
not obey his desire that she should stand still he stood 
in front of her and said, not tenderly but sternly and 
decidedly : 

You do not go a step farther, I forbid it.” 

I am going where I must go,” cried the girl in 
great agitation. ‘‘Let me go, at once ! ” 

“ You will stay here — here with me,” snarled Pub- 
lius, and taking both her hands by the wrists he 
clasped them with his iron fingers as with handcuffs. 
“ I am the man and you are the woman, and I will 


288 


THE , SISTERS. 


teach you who is to give orders here and who is to 
obey.” 

Anger and rage prompted these quite unpremedi- 
tated words, and as Klea — while he spoke them with 
quivering lips — had attempted with the exertion of all 
her strength, which was by no means contemptible, to 
wrench her hands from his grasp, he forced her — angry 
as he still was, but nevertheless with due regard for 
her womanliness — forced her by a gentle and yet 
irresistible pressure on her arms to bend before 
him, and compelled her slowly to sink down on both 
knees. 

As soon as she was in this position, Publius let her 
free ; she covered her eyes with her aching hands and 
sobbed aloud, partly from anger, and because she felt 
herself bitterly humiliated. 

' ‘^Now, stand up,” said Publius in an altered tone as 
he heard her weeping. Is it then such a hard matter 
to submit to the will of a man who will not and cannot 
let you. go, and whom you love, besides ? ” How gen- 
tle and kind the words sounded ! Klea, when she 
heard them, raised her eyes to Publius, and as she saw 
him looking down on her as a supplicant her anger 
melted and turned to grateful emotion — she went 
closei^ to him on her knees, laid her head against him 
and said : 

I have always been obliged to rely upon myself, and 
to guide another person with loving counsel, but it 
must be sweeter far to be led by affection and I will 
always, always obey you.” 

I will thank you with heart and soul henceforth 
from this hour! ” cried Publius, lifting her up. ‘‘You 
were ready to sacrifice your life for me, and now mine 


THE SISTERS. 289 

belongs to you. I am yours and you are mine — I your 
husband, you my wife till our life’s end ! ” 

He laid his hands on her shoulders, and turned her 
face round to his ; she resisted no longer, for it was 
sweet toiler to yield her will to that of this strong man. 
And how happy was she, who from her childhood had 
taken it upon herself to be always strong, and self-reli- 
ant, to feel herself the weaker, and to be permitted to 
trust in a stronger arm than her own. Somewhat thus 
a young rose-tree might feel, which for the first time 
receives the support of the prop to which it is tied 
by the careful gardener. 

Her eyes rested blissfully and yet anxiously on his, 
and his lips had just touched hers in a first kiss when 
they started apart in terror, for Klea’s name was clearly 
shouted through the still night-air, and in the next in- 
stant a loud scream rang out close to them followed by 
dull cries of pain. 

^‘The murderers!” shrieked Klea, and trembling 
for herself and for him she clung closely to her lover’s 
breast. In one brief moment the self-reliant heroine — 
proud in her death-defying valor — had become a weak, 
submissive, dependent woman. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

On the roof of the tower of the pylon by the gate 
of the Serapeum stood an astrologer who had mounted 
to this, the highest part of the temple, to observe the 
stars ; but it seemed that he was not destined on this 
occasion to fulfil his task, for swiftly driving black 


290 


THE SISTERS. 


clouds swept again and again across that portion of the 
heavens to which his observations were principally di- 
rected. At last he impatiently laid aside his instruments, 
his waxed tablet and style, and desired the gate-keeper 
— the father of poor little Philo — whose duty it was to 
attend at night on the astrologers on the tower, to carry 
down all his paraphernalia, as the heavens were not 
this evening favorable to his labors. 

“Favorable!” exclaimed the gate-keeper, catching 
up the astrologer’s words, and shrugging his shoulders 
so high that his head disappeared between them. 

“It is a night of horror, and some great disaster 
threatens us for certain. Fifteen years have I been in 
my place, and I never saw such a night but once be- 
fore, and the very next day the soldiers of Antiochus, 
the Syrian king, came and plundered our treasury. Aye 
— and to-night is worse even than that was; when the 
dog-star first rose a horrible shape with a lion’s mane 
flew across the desert, but it was not till midnight that 
the fearful uproar began, and even you shuddered when 
it broke out in the Apis-cave. Frightful things must be 
coming on us when the sacred bulls rise from the dead 
and butt and storm at the door with their horns to break 
it open. Many a time have I seen the souls of the 
dead fluttering and wheeling and screaming above the 
old mausoleums, and rock-tombs of ancient times. 
Sometimes they would soar up in the air in the form of 
hawks with men’s heads, or like ibises with a slow 
lagging flight, and sometimes sweep over the desert 
like gray shapeless shadows, or glide across the sand 
like snakes; or they would creep out of the tombs, 
howling like hungry dogs. I have often heard them 
barking like jackals or laughing like hyenas when 


THE SISTERS. 


291 


they scent carrion, but to-night is the first time I ever 
heard them shrieking like furious men^ and then groaning 
and wailing as if they were plunged in the lake of fire 
and suffering horrible torments. 

‘‘Look there — out there — something is moving 
again ! Oh ! holy father, exorcise them with some 
mighty bann. Do you not see how they are growing 
larger? They are twice the size of ordinary mortals.” 

The astronomer took an amulet in his hand, mut- 
tered a few sentences to himself, seeking at the same 
time to discover the figures which had so scared the 
gate-keeper. 

“They are indeed tall,” he said when he perceived 
them. “And now they are melting into one, and grow- 
ing smaller and smaller — however, perhaps they are 
only men come to rob the tombs, and who happen to 
be particularly tall, for these figures are not of super- 
natural height.” 

“ They are twice as tall as you, and you are not 
short,” cried the gate-keeper, pressing his lips devoutly 
to the amulet the astrologer held in his hand, “ and if 
they are robbers why has no watchman called out to 
stop them ? How is it their screams and groans have 
not waked the sentinels that are posted there every 
night ? There — that was another fearful cry ! Did you 
ever hear such tones from any human breast ? Great 
Serapis, I shall die of fright ! Come down with me, 
holy father, that I may look after my little sick boy, for 
those who have seen such sights do not escape un- 
stricken.” 

The peaceful silence of the Necropolis had indeed 
been disturbed, but the spirits of the departed had no 
share in the horrors which had been transacted this 

19 * 


292 


THE SISTERS. 


night in the desert, among the monuments and rock- 
tombs. They were living men that had disturbed the 
calm of the sacred place, that had conspired with dark- 
ness in cold-blooded cruelty, greater than that of evil 
spirits, to achieve the destruction of a fellow-man ; but 
they were living men too who, in the midst of the hor- 
rors of a most fearful night, had experienced the blos- 
soming in their own souls of the divinest germ which 
heaven implants in the bosom of its mortal children. 
Thus in a day of battle amid blood and slaughter may 
a child be born that shall grow up blessed and blessing, 
the comfort and joy of his family. 

'’The lion-maned monster whose appearance and 
rapid disappearance in the desert had first alarmed the 
gate-keeper, had been met by several travellers on its 
way to Memphis, and each and all, horrified by its un- 
canny aspect, had taken to flight or tried to hide them- 
selves — and yet it was no more than a man with warm 
pulses, an honest purpose, and a true and loving heart. 
But those who met him could not see into his soul, and 
his external aspect certainly bore little resemblance to 
that of other men. 

His feet, unused to walking, moved but clumsily, 
and had a heavy body to carry, and his enormous beard 
andT the mass of gray hair on his head — which he turned 
now this way and now that — gave him an aspect 
that might well scare even a bold man who should 
meet him unexpectedly. Two stall-keepers who, by 
day, were accustomed to offer their wares for sale 
near the Serapeum to the pilgrims, met him close to 
the city. 

‘‘Did you see that panting object ?” said one to 
the other as they looked after him. “If he were not 


THE SISTERS. 


293 


shut up fast in his cell I could declare it was Serapion, 
the recluse.” 

“Nonsense,” replied the other. “ He is tied faster 
by his oath than by chains and fetters. It must be one 
of the Syrian beggars that besiege the temple of 
Astarte.” 

“ Perhaps,” answered his companion with indiffer- 
ence. “ Let us get on now, my wife has a roast goose 
for supper this evening.” 

Serapion, it is true, was fast tied to his cell, and yet 
the pedler had judged rightly, for he it was who hurried 
along the high-road frightening all he met. After 
his long captivity walking was very painful to him ; be- 
sides, he was barefoot, and every stone in the path hurt 
the soles of his feet which had grown soft ; nevertheless 
he contrived to make a by no means contemptible 
pace when in the distance he caught sight of a woman’s 
figure which he could fancy to be Klea. Many a man, 
who in his own particular sphere of life can cut a very 
respectable figure, becomes a laughing-stock for chil- 
dren when he is taken out of his own narrow circle, and 
thrown into the turmoil of the world with all his pecu- 
liarities clinging to him. So it was with Serapion ; in 
the suburbs the street-boys ran after him mocking at 
him, but it was not till three smart hussys, who were 
resting from their dance in front of a tavern, laughed 
loudly as they caught sight of him, and an insolent sol- 
dier drove the point of his lance through his flowing 
mane, as if by accident, that he became fully conscious 
of his wild appearance, and it struck him forcibly 
that he could never in this guise find admission to the 
king’s palace. 

With prompt determination he turned into the first 


294 


THE SISTERS. 


barber’s stall that he saw lighted up ; at his appearance 
the barber hastily retreated behind his counter, but he 
got his hair and beard cut, and then, for the first time 
for many years, he saw his own face in the mirror that 
the barber held before him. He nodded, with a melan- 
choly smile, at the face — so much aged— that looked at 
him from the bright surface, paid what was asked, and 
did not heed the compassionate glance which the bar- 
ber and his assistant sent after him. They both thought 
they had been exercising their skill on a lunatic, for he 
had made no answer to all their questions, and had said 
nothing but once in a deep and fearfully loud voice : 

‘‘Chatter to other people — I am in a hurry.” 

In truth his spirit was in no mood for idle gossip ; 
no, it was full of gnawing anxiety and tender fears, and 
his heart bled when he reflected that he had broken his 
vows, and forsworn the oath he had made to his dying 
mother. 

When he reached the palace-gate he begged one of 
the civic guard to conduct him to his brother, and as he 
backed his request with a gift of money he was led at 
once to the man whom he sought. Glaucus was exces- 
sively startled to recognize Serapion, but he was so 
much engaged that he could only give up a few minutes 
to his brother, whose proceedings he considered as both 
inexplicable and criminal. 

Irene, as the anchorite now learned, had been car- 
ried off from the temple, not by Euergetes but by the 
Roman, and Klea had quitted the palace only a few 
minutes since in a chariot and would return about mid- 
night and on foot from the second tavern to the temple. 
And the poor child was so utterly alone, and her way lay 
through the desert where she might be attacked by dis- 


THE SISTERS. 


295 


solute soldiery or tomb-robbers or jackals and hyenas. 
Her walk was to begin from the second tavern, and that 
was the very spot where low rioters were wont to as- 
semble — and his darling was so young, so fair, and so 
defenceless ! 

He was once more a prey to the same unendurable 
dread that had come over him, in his cell, after Klea had 
left the temple and darkness had closed in. At that mo- 
ment he had felt all that a father could feel who from his 
prison-window sees his beloved and defenceless child 
snatched away by some beast of prey. All the perils that 
could threaten her in the palace or in the city, swarm- 
ing with drunken soldiers, had risen before his mind 
with fearful vividness, and his powerful imagination had 
painted in glaring colors all the dangers to which his 
favorite — the daughter of a noble and respected man — 
might be exposed. 

He rushed up and down his cell like a wounded 
tiger, he flung himself against the walls, and then, with 
his body hanging far out of the window, had looked out 
to see if the girl — who could not possibly have returned 
yet — were not come back again. The darker it grew, 
the more his anguish rose, and the more hideous were 
the pictures that stood before his fancy; and when, 
presently, a pilgrim in the Pastophorium who had fallen 
into convulsions screamed out loud, he was no longer 
master of himself — he kicked open the door which, 
locked on the outside and rotten from age, had been 
closed for years, hastily concealed about him some silver 
coins he kept in his chest, and let himself down to the 
ground. 

There he stood, between his cell and the outer wall 
of the temple, and now it was that he remembered his 


296 


THE SISTERS. 


VOWS, and the oath he had sworn, and his former flight 
from his retreat. Then he had fled because the pleas- 
ures and joys of life had tempted him forth — then he 
had sinned indeed ; but now the love, the anxious care 
that urged him to quit his prison were the same as had 
brought him back to it. It was to keep faith that he 
now broke faith, and mighty Serapis could read his 
heart, and his mother was dead, and while she lived 
she had always been ready and willing to forgive. 

He fancied so vividly that he could see her kind old 
face looking at him that he nodded at her as if indeed 
she stood before him. 

Then, he rolled an empty barrel to the foot of the 
wall, and with some difficulty mounted on it. The sweat 
poured down him as he climbed up the wall built of 
loose unbaked bricks to the parapet, which was much 
more than a man’s height ; then, sliding and tumbling, 
he found himself in the ditch which ran round it on the 
outside, scrambled up its outer slope, and set out at last 
on his walk to Memphis. 

What he had afterwards learned in the palace con- 
cerning Klea had but little relieved his anxiety on her 
account; she must have reached the border of the desert 
so much sooner than he, and quick walking was so diffi- 
cult'Tb him, and hurt the soles of his feet so cruelly ! 
Perhaps he might be able to procure a staff, but there 
was just as much bustle outside the gate of the citadel 
as by day. He looked round him, feeling the while in 
his wallet, which was well filled wdth silver, and his eye 
fell on a row of asses whose drivers were crowding 
round the soldiers and servants that streamed out of 
the great gate. 

He sought out the strongest of the beasts with an 


THE SISTERS. 


297 

experienced eye, flung a piece of silver to the owner, 
mounted the ass, which panted under its load, and 
promised the driver two drachmae in addition if he 
would take him as quickly as possible to the second 
tavern on the road to the Serapeum. Thus — he be- 
laboring the sides of the unhappy donkey with his sturdy 
bare legs, while the driver, running after him snorting 
and shouting, from time to time poked him up from 
behind with a stick — Serapion, now going at a short 
trot, and now at a brisk gallop, reached his destination 
only half an hour later than Klea. 

In the tavern all was dark and empty, but the re- 
cluse desired no refreshment. Only his wish that he 
had a staff revived in his mind, and he soon contrived 
to possess himself of one, by pulling a stake out of the 
fence that surrounded the innkeeper’s little garden. 
This was a somewhat heavy walking-stick, but it eased 
the recluse’s steps, for though his hot and aching feet 
carried him but painfully the strength of his arms was 
considerable. 

The quick ride had diverted his mind, had even 
amused him, for he was easily pleased, and had recalled 
to him his youthful travels; but now, as he walked on 
alone in the desert, his thoughts reverted to Klea, and 
to her only. 

He looked round for her keenly and eagerly as soon 
as the moon came out from behind the clouds, called 
her name from time to time, and thus got as far as the 
avenue of sphinxes which connected the Greek and 
Egyptian temples ; a thumping noise fell upon his ear 
from the cave of the Apis-tombs. Perhaps they were 
at work in there, preparing for the approaching festival. 
But why were the soldiers, which were always on guard 


290 


THE SISTERS. 


here, absent from their posts to-night ? Could it be that 
they had observed Klea, and carried her off? 

On the farther side of the rows of sphinxes too, 
which he had now reached, there was not a man to be 
seen — not a watchman even — though the white lime- 
stone of the tombstones and the yellow desert-sand 
shone as clear in the moonlight as if they had some in- 
ternal light of their own. 

At every instant he grew more and more uneasy, he 
climbed to the top of a sand-hill to obtain a wider 
view, and loudly called Klea’s name. 

There — was he deceived? No — there was a figure 
visible near one of the ancient tomb-shrines — a form 
that seemed wrapped in a long robe, and when once 
more he raised his voice in a loud call it came nearer to 
him and to the row of sphinxes. In greate haste and as 
fast as he could he got down again to the roadway, 
hurried across the smooth pavement, on both sides of 
which the long perspective of man-headed lions kept 
guard, and painfully clambered up a sand-heap oh the 
opposite side. This was in truth a painful effort, for the 
sand crumbled away again and again under his feet, 
slipping down hill and carrying him with it, thus com- 
pelling him to find a new hold with hand and foot. At 
last h^vas standing on the outer border of the sphinx- 
avenue and opposite the very shrine where he fancied 
he had seen her whom he sought; but during his clam- 
ber it had become perfectly dark again, for a heavy 
cloud had once more veiled the moon. He put botli 
hands to his mouth, and shouted as loud as he could, 
^Hvlea!” — and then again, Klea!” 

Then, close at his feet he heard a rustle in the sand, 
and saw a figure moving before him as though it had 


a'HE SISTERS. 


299 

risen out of the ground. This could not be Klea, it 
was a man — still, perhaps, he might have seen his dar- 
ling — but before he had time to address him he felt the 
shock of a heavy blow that fell with tremendous force 
on his back between his shoulders. The assassin’s 
sand-bag had missed the exact spot on the nape of the 
neck, and Serapion’s strongly-knit backbone would have 
been able to resist even a stronger blow. 

The conviction that he was attacked by robbers 
flashed on his consciousness as immediately as the sense 
of pain, and with it the certainty that he was a lost man 
if he did not defend himself stoutly. 

Behind him he heard another rustle in the sand. As 
quickly as he could he turned round with an exclama- 
tion of Accursed brood of vipers! ” and with his heavy 
staff he fell upon the figure before him like a smith beat- 
ing cold iron, for his eye, now more accustomed to the 
darkness, plainly saw it to be a man. Serapion must 
have hit straight, for his foe fell at his feet with a hideous 
roar, rolled over and over in the sand, groaning and 
panting, and then with one shrill shriek lay silent and 
motionless. 

The recluse, in spite of the dim light, could see all 
the movements of the robber he had punished so 
severely, and he was bending over the fallen man 
anxiously and compassionately when he shuddered to 
feel two clammy hands touching his feet, and immedi- 
ately after two sharp pricks in his right heel, which were 
so acutely painful that he screamed aloud, and was 
obliged to lift up the wounded foot. At the same time, 
however, he did not overlook the need to defend him- 
self. Roaring like a wounded bull, cursing and raging, 
he laid about him on all sides with his staff, but hit 


300 THE SISTERS. 

nothing but the ground. Then as his blows followed 
each other more slowly, and at last his wearied arms 
could no longer wield the heavy stake, and he found 
himself compelled to sink on his knees, a hoarse voice 
addressed him thus: 

You have taken my comrade’s life, Roman, and a 
two-legged serpent has stung you for it. In a quarter 
of an hour it will be all over with you, as it is with that 
fellow there. Why does a fine gentleman like you go to 
keep an appointment in the desert without boots or san- 
dals, and so make our work so easy ? King Euergetes 
and your friend Eulaeus send you their greetings. You 
owe it to them that I leave you even your ready money; 
I wish I could only carry away that dead lump there!” 

During this rough speech Serapion was lying on the 
ground in great agony; he could only clench his fists, 
and groan out heavy curses with his lips which were 
now getting parched. His sight was as yet undimmed, 
and he could distinctly see by the light of the moon, 
which now shone forth from a broad cloudless opening 
in the sky, that the murderer attempted to carry away 
his fallen comrade, and then, after raising his head to 
listen for a moment sprang off with flying steps away 
into the desert. But the recluse now lost consciousness, 
and when some minutes later he once more opened his 
eyes his head was resting softly in the lap of a young 
girl, and it was the voice of his beloved Klea that asked 
him tenderly. 

‘‘You poor dear father! How came you here in the 
desert, and into the hands of these murderers ? Do you 
know me — your Klea? And he who is looking for your 
wounds — which are not visible at all — he is the Roman 
Publius Scipio. Now first tell us where the dagger hit 


THE SISTERS. 


301 


you that I may bind it up quickly — I am half a physi- 
cian, and understand these things as you know.” 

The recluse tried to turn his head towards Klea’s,, 
but the effort was in vain, and he said in a low voice : 

‘‘ Prop me up against the slanting wall of the tomb- 
shrine yonder; and you, child, sit down opposite to me, 
for I would fain look at you while I die. Gently, gently, 
my friend Publius, for I feel as if all my limbs were 
made of Phoenician glass, and might break at the least 
touch. Thank you, my young friend — you have strong 
arms, and you may lift me a little higher yet. So — now 
I can bear it; nay, I am well content, I am to be en- 
vied — for the moon shows me your dear face, my child,, 
and I see tears on your cheeks, tears for me, a surly old 
man. Aye, it is good, it is very good to die thus.” 

‘‘Oh, father, father!” cried Klea. “You must not 
speak so. You must live, you must not die; for see,^ 
Publius here asks me to be his wife, and the Immortals 
only can know how glad I am to go with him, and 
Irene is to stay with us, and be my sister and his. That 
must make you happy, father. — But tell us, pray tell us 
where the wound hurts that the murderer gave you ? ” 

“Children, children,” murmured the anchorite^ 
and a happy smile parted his lips. “The gracious 
gods are merciful in permitting me to see that — aye, 
merciful to me, and to effect that end I would have died 
twenty deaths.” 

Klea pressed his now cold hand to her lips as he 
spoke and again asked, though hardly able to control 
her voice for tears : 

“But the wound, father — where is the wound?” 

“Let be, let be,” replied Serapion. “It is acrid 
poison, not a dagger or dart that has undone my 


302 


THE SISTERS. 


Strength. And I can depart in peace, for I am no 
longer needed for anything. You, Publius, must now 
take my place with this child, and will do it better than 
I. Klea, the wife of Publius Scipio! I indeed have 
dreamt that such a thing might come to pass, — and I 
always knew, and have said to myself a thousand times 
what I now say to you my son : This girl here, this 
Klea is of a good sort, and worthy only of the noblest. 
I give her to you, my son Publius, and now join your 
hands before me here — for I have always been like a 
father to her.” 

‘‘That you have indeed,” sobbed Kle^. “And it 
was no doubt for my sake, and to protect me, that you 
quitted your retreat, and have met your death.” 

“ It was fate, it was fate,” stammered the old man. 

“The assassins were in ambush for me,” cried Pub- 
lius, seizing Serapion’s hand, “ the murderers who fell 
on 'you instead of me. Once more, where is your 
wound ? ” 

“ My destiny fulfils itself,” replied the recluse. “ No 
locked-up cell, no physician, no healing herb can avail 
against the degrees of Fate. I am dying of a serpent’s 
sting as it was foretold at my birth ; and if I had not 
gone out to seek Klea a serpent would have slipped in- 
to my:-cage, and have ended my life there. Give me 
your hands, my children, for a deadly chill is creeping 
over me, and its cold hand already touches my heart.” 

For a few minutes his voice failed him, and then he 
said softly: 

“ One thing I would fain ask of you. My little pos- 
sessions, which were intended for you and Irene, you 
will now use to bury me. I do not wish to be burnt, 
as they 'did with my father — no, I should wish to be 


THE SISTERS 


303 


finely embalmed, and my mummy to be placed with my 
mother’s. If indeed we may meet again after death — 
and I believe we shall — I would rather see her once 
more than any one, for she loved me so much — and I 
feel now as if I were a child again, and could throw my 
arms round her neck. In another life, perhaps, I may 
not be the child of misfortune that I have been in this 
— in another life — now it grips my heart — in another — 
Children whatever joys have smiled on me in this, chil- 
dren, it was to you I have owed it — Klea, to you — and 
there is my little Irene too — ” 

These were the last words of Serapion the recluse; 
he fell back with a deep sigh and was dead. Klea and 
Publius tenderly closed his faithful eyes. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The unwonted tumult that had broken the stillness 
of the night had not been unobserved in the Greek Ser- 
apeum any more than in the Egyptian temple adjoining 
the Apis-tombs; but perfect silence once more reigned 
in the Necropolis, when at last the great gate of the 
sanctuary of Osiris-Apis was thrown open, and a little 
troop of priests arranged in a procession came out from 
it with a vanguard of temple servants, who had been 
armed with sacrificial knives and axes. 

Publius and Klea, who were keeping faithful watch 
by the body of their dead friend, saw them approaching, 
and the Roman said: 

It would have been even less right in such a night 
as this to let you proceed to one of the temples with- 


304 


THE SISTERS. 


out my escort than to have let our poor friend remain 
un watched.” 

‘‘Once more I assure you,” said Klea eagerly “that 
we should have thrown away every chance of fulfilling 
Serapion’s last wish as he intended, if during our absence 
a jackal or a hyena had mutilated his body, and I am 
happy to be able at least to prove to my friend, now he 
is dead, how grateful I am for all the kindness he showed 
us while he lived. We ought to be grateful even to 
the departed, for how still and blissful has this hour 
been while guarding his body. Storm and strife brought 
us together — ” 

“And here,” interrupted Publius, “we have con- 
cluded a happy and permanent treaty of peace for the 
rest of our lives.” 

“I accept it willingly,” replied Klea, looking down, 
“for I am the vanquished party.” 

“ But you have already confessed,” said Publius, “ that 
you were never so unhappy as when you thought you had 
asserted your strength against mine, and I can tell you 
that you never seemed to me so great and yet so lovable 
as when in the midst of your triumph, you gave up the 
battle for lost. Such an hour as that, a man experiences 
but once in his lifetime. I have a good memory, but if 
ever P-should forget it, and be angry and passionate — as 
is sometimes my way — remind me of this spot, or of this 
our dead friend, and my hard mood will melt, and I 
shall remember that you once were ready to give your 
life for mine. I will make it easy for you, for in honor 
of this man, who sacrificed his life for yours and who 
was actually murdered in my stead, I promise to add 
his name of Serapion to my own, and I will confirm this 
vow in Rome. He has behaved to us as a father, and 


THE SISTERS. 


305 

it behoves me to reverence his memory as though I had 
been his son. An obligation was always unendurable 
to me, and how I shall ever make full restitution to you 
for what you have done for me this night I do not yet 
know — and yet I should be ready and willing every day 
and every hour to accept from you some new gift of 
love. ‘A debtor,’ says the proverb, ‘is half a prisoner,’ 
•and so I must entreat you to deal mercifully with your 
conquerer.” 

He took her hand, stroked back the hair from her 
forehead, and touched it lightly with his lips. Then he 
went on: 

“ Come with me now that we may commit the dead 
into the hands of these priests.” 

Klea once more bent over the remains of the an- 
chorite, she hung the amulet he had given her for her 
journey round his neck, and then silently obeyed her 
lover. When they came up with the little procession 
Publius informed the chief priest how he had found 
Serapion, and requested him to fetch away the corpse, 
and to cause it to be prepared for interment in the cost- 
liest manner in the embalming house attached to their 
temple. Some of the temple-servants took their places 
to keep watch over the body, and after many questions 
addressed to Publius, and after examining too the body 
of the assassin who had been slain, the priests returned 
to the temple. , 

As soon as the two lovers were left alone again Klea 
seized the Roman’s hand, and said passionately: 

“You have spoken many tender words to me, and I 
thank you for them; but I am wont always to be honest, 
and less than any one could I deceive you. Whatever 
your love bestows upon me will always be a free gift. 


20 


3o6 


THE SISTERS. 


since you owe me nothing at all and I owe you infinitely 
much; for I know now that you have snatched my 
sister from the clutches of the mightiest in the land while 
I, when I heard tliat Irene had gone away with you, 
and that murder threatened your life, believed implicitly 
that on the contrary you had lured the child away to 
become your sweetheart, and then — then I hated you, 
and then — 1 must confess it — in my horrible distraction 
I wished you dead!” 

‘‘And you think that wish can offend me or hurt 
me?” said Publius. “No, my child; it only proves to 
me that you love me as I could wish to be loved. 
Such rage under such circumstances is but the dark 
shadow cast by love, and is as inseparable from love as 
from any tangible body. Where it is absent there is no 
such thing as real love present — only an airy vision, a 
phantom, a mockery. Such an one as Klea does not 
love nor hate by halves; but there are mysterious work- 
ings in your soul as in that of every other woman. 
How did the wish that you could see me dead turn into 
the fearful resolve to let yourself be killed in my stead ? ” 

“ I saw the murderers,” answered Klea, “ and I was 
overwhelmed with horror of them and of their schemes, 
and of all that had to do with them; I would not de- 
stroy^ Irene’s happiness, and I loved you even more 
deeply than I hated you; and then — but let us not speak 
of it.” 

“Nay — tell me all.” 

“Then there was a moment — ” 

“Well, Klea?” 

“Then — In these last hours, while we have been 
sitting hand in hand by the body of poor Serapion, and 
hardly speaking, I have felt it all over again — then the 


THE SISTERS. 


307 


midnight hymn of the priests fell upon my heart, and as 
I lifted up my soul in prayer at their pious chant I felt 
as if all my inmost heart had been frozen and hardened, 
and was reviving again to new life and tenderness and 
warmth. I could not help thinking of all that is good 
and right, and I made up my mind to sacrifice myself 
for you and for Irene’s happiness far more quickly and 
easily than I could give it up afterwards. My father 
was one of the followers of Zeno — ” 

‘‘ And you,” interrupted Publius, thought you were 
acting in accordance with the doctrine of the Stoa. I 
also am familiar with it, but I do not know the man 
who is so virtuous and wise that he can live and act, as 
that teaching prescribes, in the heat of the struggle of 
life, or who is the living representative in flesh and blood 
of the whole code of ethics, not sinning against one of 
its laws and embodying it in himself. Did you ever 
hear of the peace of mind, the lofty indifference and 
equanimity of the Stoic sages? You look as if the 
question offended you, but you did not by any means 
know how to attain that magnanimity, for I have seen 
you fail in it; indeed it is contrary to the very nature of 
woman, and — the gods be thanked — you are not a Stoic 
in woman’s dress, but a woman — a true woman, as you 
should be. You have learned nothing from Zeno and 
Chrysippus but what any peasant girl might learn from 
an honest father, to be true I mean and to love virtue. 
Be content with that; I am more than satisfied.” 

‘‘ Oh, Publius,” exclaimed the girl, grasping her 
friend’s hand. I understand you, and I know that you 
are right. A woman must be miserable so long as she 
fancies herself strong, and imagines and feels that she 
needs no other support than her own firm will and de- 


20 * 


3o8 


THE SISTERS. 


termination, no other counsel than some wise doctrine 
which she accepts and adheres to. Before I could call 
you mine, and went on my own way, proud of my own 
virtue, I was — I cannot bear to think of it — but half a 
soul, and took it for a whole; but now — if now fate 
were to snatch you from me, I should still know where 
to seek the support on which I might lean in need and 
despair. Not in the Stoa, not in herself can a woman 
find such a stay, but in pious dependence on the help 
of the gods.’' 

“I am a man,” interrupted Publius, ‘'and yet I 
sacrifice to them and yield ready obedience to their de- 
crees.” 

“ But,” cried Klea, “ I saw yesterday in the temple 
of Serapis the meanest things done by his ministers, and 
it pained me and disgusted me, and I lost my hold on 
the divinity; but the extremest anguish and deepest 
love have led me to find it again. I can no longer con- 
ceive of the power that upholds the universe as without 
love nor of the love that makes men happy as other than 
divine. Any one who has once prayed for a being they 
love as I prayed for you in the desert can never again 
forget how to pray. Such prayers indeed are not in 
vain. Even if no god can hear them there is a strength- 
ening virtue in such prayer itself. 

“Now I will go contentedly back to our temple till 
you fetch me, for I know that the discreetest, wisest, 
and kindest Beings will watch over our love.” 

“ You will not accompany me to Apollodorus and 
Irene?” asked Publius in surprise. 

“No,” answered Klea firmly. “Rather take me 
back to the Serapeum. I have not yet been released 
from the duties I undertook there, and it will be more 


THE SISTERS. 


309 


worthy of us both that Asdepiodoriis should give you 
the daughter of Philotas as your wife than that you 
should be married to a runaway serving-maid of Se- 
rapis,” • 

Publius considered for a moment, and then he said 
eagerly : 

‘‘Still I would rather you should come with me. You 
must be dreadfully tired, but I could take you on. my 
mule to Apollodorus. I care little for what men say of 
me when I am sure I am doing right, and I shall know 
how to protect you against Euergetes whether you wish 
to be readmitted to the temple or accompany me to 
the sculptor. But do come — it will be hard on me to 
part from you again. The victor does not lay aside the 
crown when he has just won it in hard fight.” 

“Still I entreat you to take me back to the Sera- 
peum,” said Klea, laying her hand in that of Publius. 

“ Is the way to Memphis too long, are you utterly 
tired out ? ” 

“I am much wearied by agitation and terror, by 
anxiety and happiness, still I could very well bear the 
ride; but I beg of you to take me back to the temple,” 

“ What — although you feel strong enough to remain 
with me, and in spite of my desire to conduct you at 
once to Apollodorus and Irene?” asked Publius aston- 
ished, and he withdrew his hand. “The mule is wait- 
ing out there. Lean on my arm. Come and do as I 
request you.” 

“No, Publius, no. You are my lord and master, 
and I will always obey you unresistingly. In one thing 
only let me have my own way, now and in the future. 
As to what becomes a woman I know better than you, 
it is a thing that none but a woman can decide,” 


310 


THE SISTERS. 


Publius made no reply to these words, but he kissed 
her, and threw his arm round her; and so, clasped in 
each other’s embrace, they reached the gate of the Sera- 
peum, there to pfirt for a few hours. 

Klea was let into the temple, and as soon as she had 
learned that little Philo was much better, she threw her- 
self on her humble bed. 

How lonely her room seemed, how intolerably empty 
without Irene. In obedience to a hasty impulse she 
quitted her own bed, lay herself down on her sister’s, as 
if that brought her nearer to the absent girl, and closed 
her eyes; but she was too much excited and too much 
exhausted to sleep soundly. Swiftly-changing visions 
broke in again and again on her sincerely devotional 
thoughts and her restless half-sleep, painting to her fancy 
now wondrously bright images, and now most horrible 
ones — now pictures of exquisite happiness, and again 
others of dismal melancholy. And all the time she 
imagined she heard distant music and was being rocked 
up and down by unseen hands. 

Still the image of the Roman overpowered all the 
rest. 

At last a refreshing sleep sealed her eyes more 
closely, and in her dream she saw her lover’s house in 
Rome, his stately father, his noble mother — who seemed 
to her to bear a likeness to her own mother — and the 
figures of a number of tall and dignified senators. She 
felt herself much embarrassed among all these strangers, 
who looked enquiringly at her, and then kindly held out 
their hands to her. Even the dignified matron came to 
meet her with effusion, and clasped her to her breast; 
but just as Publius had opened his arms to her and she * 
flew to his heart, and she fancied she could feel his lips 


THE SISTERS. 


3II 

pressed to hers, the woman, who called her every 
morning, knocked at her door and awoke her. 

This time she had been happy in her dream and 
would willingly have slept again ; but she forced her- 
self to rise from her bed, and before the sun was quite 
rhen she was standing by the Well of the Sun and, not 
to neglect her duty, she filled both the jars for the altar 
of the god. 

Tired and half-overcome by sleep, she set the gol- 
den vessels in their place, and sat down to rest at the 
foot of a pillar, while a priest poured out the water she 
bad brought, as a drink-offering on the ground. 

It was now broad daylight as she looked out into 
the forecourt through the many-pillared hall of the tem- 
ple ; the early sunlight played round the columns, and 
’ts slanting rays, at this hour, fell through the tall door- 
vay far into the great hall which usually lay in twilight 
^oom. 

The sacred spot looked very solemn in her eyes, 
sublime, and as it were reconsecrated, and obeying an 
irresistible impulse she leaned against a column, and 
liking up her arms, and raising her eyes, she uttered her 
thankfulness to the god for his loving kindness, and 
found but one thing to pray for, namely that he would 
preserve Publius and Irene, and all mankind, from sor- 
row and anxiety and deception. 

She felt as if her heart had till now been benighted 
and dark, and had just disclosed some latent light — as 
if it had been withered and dry, and was now blossom- 
ing in fresh verdure and brightly-colored flowers. 

To act virtuously is granted even to those who, re- 
lying on themselves, earnestly strive to lead moral, just, 
and honest lives ; but the happy union of virtue and 


312 


THE SISTERS. 


pure inner happiness is solemnized only in the heart 
which is able to seek and find a God — be it Serapis or 
Jehovah. 

At the door of the forecourt Klea was met by 
Asclepiodorus, who desired her to follow him. The 
high-priest had learned that she had secretly quitted the 
temple : when she was alone with him in a quiet room 
he asked her gravely and severely, why she had broken 
the laws and left the sanctuary without his permission. 
Klea told him, that terror for her sister had driven her 
to Memphis, and that she there had heard that Publius 
Cornelius Scipio, the Roman who had taken up her 
father’s cause, had saved Irene from king Euergetes, 
and placed her in safety, and that then she had set out 
on her way home in the middle of the night. 

The high-priest seemed pleased at her news, and 
when she proceeded to inform him that Serapion had 
forsaken his cell out of anxiety for her, and had met his 
death in the desert, he said : 

‘‘ I knew all that, my child. May the gods forgive 
the recluse, and may Serapis show him mercy in the 
other world in spite of his broken oath ! His destiry 
had to be fulfilled. You, child, were born under happier 
stars than he, and it is within my power to let you go 
unpunished. This I do willingly ; and Klea, if my 
daughter Andromeda grows up, I can only wish that 
she may resemble you ; this is the highest praise that a 
father can bestow on another man’s daughter. As head 
of this temple I command you to fill your jars to-day, 
as usual, till one who is worthy of you comes to me, 
and asks you for his wife. I suspect he will not be 
long to wait for.” 

“How do you know, father, — ” asked Klea, coloring. 


THE SISTERS. 


313 

I can read it in your eyes,’^ said Asclepiodorus, 
and he gazed kindly after her as, at a sign from him, 
she quitted the room. 

As soon as he was alone he sent for his secretary 
and said : 

King Philometor has commanded that his brother 
Euergetes’ birthday shall be kept to-day in Memphis. 
Let all the standards be hoisted, and the garlands of 
flowers which will presently arrive from Arsinoe be fast- 
ened up on the pylons ; have the animals brought in 
for sacrifice, and arrange a procession for the afternoon. 
All the dwellers in the temple must be carefully attired. 
— But there is another thing; Komanus has been here, 
and has promised us great things in Euergetes’ name, 
and declares that he intends to punish his brother Philo- 
metor for having abducted a girl — Irene — attached to 
our temple. At the same time he requests me to send 
Klea the water-bearer, the sister of the girl who was 
carried off, to Memphis to be examined — but this may 
be deferred. For to-day we will close the temple gates, 
solemnize the festival among ourselves, and allow no 
one to enter our precincts for sacrifice and prayer till 
the fate of the sisters is made certain. If the kings 
themselves make their appearance, and want to bring 
their troops in, we will receive them respectfully as 
becomes us, but we will not give up Klea, but consign 
her to the holy of holies, which even Euergetes dare 
not enter without me ; for in giving up the girl we sac- 
rifice our dignity, and with that ourselves.” 

The secretary bowed, and then announced that two 
of the prophets of Osiris- Apis desired to speak with 
Asclepiodorus. 

‘‘ Klea had met these men in the antechamber as 


3^4 


THE SISTERS. 


slie quitted the high-priest, and had seen in the hand of 
one of them the key with which she had opened the 
door of the rock-tomb. She had started, and her con- 
science urged her to go at once to the priest-smith, and 
tell him how ill she had fulfilled her errand. 

When she entered his room Krates was sitting at 
his work with his feet wrapped up, and he was rejoiced 
to see her, for his anxiety for her and for Irene had dis- 
turbed his night’s rest, and towards morning his alarm 
had been much increased by a frightful dream. 

Klea, encouraged by the friendly welcome of the old 
man, who was usually so surly, confessed that she had 
neglected to deliver the key to the smith in the city, 
that she had used it to open the Apis-tombs, and had 
then forgotten to take it out of the new lock. At this 
confession the old man broke out violently, he flung his 
file, and the iron bolt at which he was working, on to 
his work-table, exclaiming ; 

‘‘And this is the way you executed your commission. 
It is the first time I ever trusted a woman, and this is 
my reward! All this will bring evil on you and on me, 
and when it is found out that the sanctuary of Apis 
has been desecrated through my fault and yours, they 
will inflict all sorts of penance on me, and with very 
good-Teason — as for you, they will punish you with 
imprisonment and starvation.” 

“ And yet, father,” Klea calmly replied, “ I feel per- 
fectly guiltless, and perhaps in the same fearful situation 
you might not have acted diflerently.” 

“ You think so — you dare to believe such a thing ?” 
stormed the old man. “ And if the key and perhaps 
even the lock have been stolen, and if I have done all 
that beautiful and elaborate work in vain ?” 


THE SISTERS. 


315 

“ What thief would venture into the sacred tombs ? 
asked Klea doubtfully. 

• “ What ! are they so unapproachable ? ” interrupted 

Krates. “Why, a miserable creature like you even 
dared to open them. But only wait — only wait; if 
only my feet were not so painful — ” 

“ Listen to me,’^ said the girl, going closer up to the 
indignant smith. “You are discreet, as you proved to 
me only yesterday ; and if I were to tell you all I went 
through and endured last night you would certainly for- 
give me, that I know.’' 

“ If you are not altogether mistaken ! ” shouted the 
smith. “ Those must be strange things indeed which 
could induce me to let such neglect of duty and such a 
misdemeanor pass unpunished.” 

And strange things they were indeed which the old 
man now had to hear, for when Klea had ended her 
narrative of all that had occurred during the past night, 
not her eyes only but those of the old smith too were 
wet with tears. • 

“These accursed legs!” he muttered, as his eyes met 
the enquiring glance of the young girl, and he wiped 
the salt dew from his cheeks with the sleeve of his coat. 
“ Aye — a swelled foot like mine is painful, child, and a 
cripple such as I am is not always strong-minded. Old 
women grow like men, and old men grow like women. 
Ah! old age — ^it is bad to have such feet as mine, but 
what is worse is that memory fades as years advance. 
I believe now that I left the key myself in the door of 
the Apis-tombs last evening, and I will send at once to 
Asclepiodorus, so that he may beg the Egyptians up 
there to forgive me — they are indebted to me for many 
small jobs.” 


3i6 


THE SISTERS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

All the black masses of clouds which during the 
night had darkened the blue sky and hidden the light 
of the moon had now completely disappeared. The 
north-east wind which rose towards morning had floated 
them away, and Zeus, devourer of the clouds, had swal- 
lowed them up to the very last. It ’was a glorious 
morning, and as the sun rose in the heavens, and pierced 
and burnt up with augmenting haste the pale mist that 
hovered over the Nile, and the vapor that hung — a del- 
icate transparent veil of bluish-grey bombyx-gauze — 
over the eastern slopes, the cool shades of night van- 
ished too Irom the dusky nooks of the narrow towm 
which lay, mile-wide, along the western bank of the 
river. And the intensely brilliant sunlight which now 
bathed the slireets and houses, the palaces and temples, 
the gardens and avenues, and the innumerable vessels 
in the harbor of Memphis, was associated with a glow 
of warmth which was welcome even there in the early 
morning Of a winter’s day. 

Foats’ captains and sailors were hurrying down to 
the shore of the Nile to avail themselves of the north- 
east breeze to travel southwards against the current, 
and sails were being hoisted and anchors heaved, to an 
accompaniment of loud singing. The quay was so 
crowded with ships that it was difficult to understand 
how those that were ready could ever disentangle them- 
selves, and find their way through those remaining be- 
hind; but each somehow found an outlet by which to 


THE SISTERS. 


317 


reach the navigable stream, and ere long the river was 
swarming with boats, all sailing southwards, and giving 
it the appearance of an endless perspective of camp 
tents set afloat. 

Long strings of camels with high packs, of more 
lightly laden asses, and of dark-colored slaves, were 
passing down the road to the harbor; these last were 
singing, as yet unhurt by the burden of the day, and 
the overseers’ whips were still in their girdles. 

Ox-carts were being laden or coming down to the 
landing-place with goods, and the ship’s captains were 
already beginning to collect round the diflerent great 
merchants — of whom the greater number were Greeks, 
and only a few dressed in Egyptian costume — in order 
to offer their freight for sale, or to hire out their vessels 
for some new expedition. 

The greatest bustle and noise were at a part of the 
quay where, under large tents, the custom-house offlcials 
were busily engaged, for most vessels first cast anchor 
at Memphis to pay duty or Nile-toll on the ‘‘king’s table.” 
The market close to the harbor also was a gay scene; 
there dates and grain, the skins of beasts, and dried fish 
were piled in great heaps, and bleating and bellowing 
herds of cattle were driven together to be sold to the 
highest bidder. 

Soldiers on foot and horseback in gaudy dresses and 
shining armor, mingled with the busy crowd, like pea- 
cocks and gaudy cocks among the fussy swarm of hens 
in a farm yard; lordly courtiers, in holiday dresses 
of showy red, blue and yellow stuffs, were borne by 
slaves in litters or standing on handsome gilt chari- 
ots; garlanded priests walked about in long white 
robes, and smartly dressed girls were hurrying down to 


THE SISTERS. 


I 


the taverns near the harbor to play the flute or to 
dance.- 

The children that were playing about among this 
busy mob looked covetously at the baskets piled high 
with cakes, which the bakers’ boys were carrying so 
cleverly on their heads. The dogs innumerable put up 
their noses as the dealers in such dainties passed near 
them, and many of them set up longing howls when a 
citizen’s wife came by with her slaves, carrying in their 
baskets freshly killed fowls, and juicy meats to roast for 
the festival, among heaps of vegetables and fruits. 

Gardeners’ boys and young girls were bearing gar- 
lands of flowers, festoons and fragrant nosegays, some 
piled on large trays which they carried two and two, 
some on smaller boards or hung on cross poles for one 
to carry; at that part of the quay where the king’s 
barge lay at anchor numbers of workmen were busily 
employed in twining festoons of greenery and flowers 
round the flag-staffs, and in hanging them with lan- 
terns. 

Long files of the ministers of the god — representing 
the five phyla or orders of the priesthood of the whole 
country — were marching, in holiday attire, along the 
harbor-road in the direction of the palace, and the jost- 
ling^rowd respectfully made way for them ^to pass. 
The gleams of festal splendor seemed interwoven with 
the laborious bustle on the quay like scraps of gold 
thread in a dull work-a-day garment. 

Euergetes, brother of the king, was keeping his birth- 
day in Memphis to-day, and all the city was to take 
part in the festivities. 

At the first hour after sunrise victims had been sac- 
rificed in the temple of Ptah, the most ancient, and 


THE SISTERS. 


319 


most vast of the sanctuaries of the venerable capital ot 
the Pharaohs; the sacred Apis-bull, but recently intro- 
duced into the temple, was hung all over with golden 
ornaments; early in the morning Euergetes had paid 
his devotions to the sacred beast — which had eaten out 
of his hand, a favorable augury of success for his plans; 
and the building in which the Apis lived, as well as the 
stalls of his mother and of the cows kept for him, had 
been splendidly decked with flowers. 

The citizens of Memphis were not permitted to pur- 
sue their avocations or ply their trades beyond the hour 
of noon; then the markets, the booths, the workshops 
and schools were to be closed, and on the great square 
in front of the temple of Ptah, where the annual fair 
was held, dramas both sacred and profane, and shows 
of all sorts were to be seen, heard and admired by 
men, women and children — provided at the expense of 
the two kings. 

Two men of Alexandria, one an Eolian of Lesbos, 
and the other a Hebrew belonging to the Jewish com- 
munity, but who was not distinguishable by dress or 
accent from his Greek fellow-citizens, greeted each 
other on the quay opposite the landing-place for the 
king’s vessels, some of which were putting out into the 
stream, spreading their purple sails and dipping their 
prows inlaid with ivory and heavily gilt. 

“In a couple of hours,” said the Jew, “I shall be 
travelling homewards. May I offer you a place in my 
boat, or do you propose remaining here to assist at the 
festival and not starting till to-morrow morning? There 
are all kinds of spectacles to be seen, and when it is 
dark a grand illumination is to take place.” 

“ What do I care for their barbarian rubbish ?” an- 


320 


THE SISTERS. 


swered the Lesbian. ‘‘Why, the Egyptian music alone 
drives me to distraction. My business is concluded. I 
had inspected the goods brought from Arabia and India 
by way of Berenice and Coptos, and had selected those 
I needed before the vessel that brought them had 
moored in the Mariotic harbor, and other goods will 
have reached Alexandria before me. I will not stay an 
hour longer than is necessary in this horrible place, which 
is as dismal as it is huge. Yesterday I visited the gym- 
nasium and the better class of baths — wretched, I call 
them! It is an insult to the fish-market and the 
horse-ponds of Alexandria to compare them with 
them.” 

“And the theatre!” exclaimed the Jew. “The ex- 
terior one can bear to look at — but the acting! Yes- 
terday they gave the ‘Thais’ of Menander, and I assure 
you that in Alexandria the woman who dared to im- 
personate the bewitching and cold-hearted Hetaira 
would have been driven oif the stage — they would have 
pelted her with rotten apples. Close by me there sat 
a sturdy, brown Egyptian, a sugar-baker or something 
of the kind, who held his sides with laughing, and yet, 
I dare swear, did not understand a word of the comedy. 
But in Memphis it is the fashion to know Greek, even 
among the artisans. May I hope to have you as my 
guest?” 

“With pleasure, with pleasure!” replied the Lesbian. 
“ I was about to look out for a boat. Have you done 
your business to your satisfaction?” 

“Tolerably!” answered the Jew. “I have pur- 
chased some corn from Upper Egypt, and stored it in 
the granaries here. The whole of that row yonder were 
to let for a mere song, and so v/e get off cheaply when 


THE SISTERS. 


321 


we let the wheat lie here instead of at Alexandria where 
granaries are no longer to be had for money.” 

^‘That is very clever!” replied the Greek. There 
is bustle enough here in the harbor, but the many 
empty warehouses and the low rents prove how Mem- 
phis is going down. Formerly this city was the empo- 
rium for all vessels, but now for the most part they only 
run in to pay the toll and to take in supplies for their 
crews. This populous place has a big stomach, and 
many trades drive a considerable business here, but most 
of those that fail here are still carried on in Alexandria.” 

‘‘It is the sea that is lacking,” interrupted the Jew- 
“ Memphis trades only with Egypt, and we with the 
whole world. The merchant who sends his goods here 
only load camels, and wretched asses, and flat-bottomed 
Nile-boats, while we in our harbors freight fine sea-^ 
going vessels. When the winter-storms are past our 
house alone sends twenty triremes with Egyptian wheat 
to Ostia and to Pontus; and your Indian and Arabian 
goods, your imports from the newly opened Ethiopian 
provinces, take up less room, but I should like to know 
how many talents your trade amounted to in the course 
of the past year. Well then, farewell till we meet again 
on my boat; it is called the Euphrosyne, and lies out 
there, exactly opposite the two statues of the old 
king — who can remember these stiff barbarian names? 
In three hours we start. I have a good cook on board, 
who is not too particular as to the regulations regarding 
food by which my countrymen in Palestine live, and 
you will find a few new books and some capital wine 
from Byblos.” 

“Then we need not dread a head- wind,” laughed 
the Lesbian. “We meet again in three hours.” 


21 


322 


THE SISTERS. 


The Israelite waved his hand to his travelling 
companion, and proceeded at first along the shore 
under the shade of an alley of sycamores with their 
broad unsymmetrical heads of foliage, but presently 
he turned aside into a narrow street which led from 
the quay to the city. He stood still for a moment 
opposite the entrance of the corner house, one side 
of which lay parallel to the stream while the other 
— exhibiting the front door, and a small oil-shop — 
faced the street; his attention had been attracted to 
it by a strange scene; but he had still much to attend 
to before starting on his journey, and he soon hur- 
ried on again without noticing a tall man who came 
towards him, wearing a travelling-hat and a cloak 
such as was usually adapted only for making jour- 
neys. 

The house at which the Jew had gazed so fixedly 
was that of Apollodorus, the sculptor, and the man who 
was so strangely dressed for a walk through the city at 
this hour of the day was the Roman, Publius Scipio. 
He seemed to be still more attracted by what was going 
on in the little stall by the sculptor’s front door, than 
even the Israelite had been; he leaned against the fence 
of the garden opposite the shop, and stood for some 
time^azing and shaking his head at the strange things 
that were to be seen within. 

A wooden counter supported by the wall of the 
house — which was used by customers to lay their money 
on and which generally held a few oil-jars — projected a 
little way into the street like a window-board, and on 
this singular couch sat a distinguished looking youth in 
a light blue, sleeveless chiton, turning his back on the 
stall itself, which was not much bigger than a good- 


THE SISTERS. 


323 

sized travelling-chariot. By his side lay a Himation* 
of fine white woolen stuff with a blue border. His legs 
hung out into the street, and his brilliant color stood 
out in wonderful contrast to the dark skin of a naked 
Egyptian boy, who crouched at his feet with a cage full 
of doves. 

The young Greek sitting on the window-counter 
had a golden fillet on his oiled and perfumed curls, san- 
dals of the finest leather on his feet, and even in these 
humble surroundings looked elegant — but even more 
merry than elegant — for die whole of his handsome face 
was radiant with smiles while he tied two small rosy- 
grey turtle doves with ribands of rose-colored bombyx- 
silk to the graceful basket in which they were sitting, 
and then slipped a costly gold bracelet over the heads 
of the frightened birds, and attached it to their wings 
with a white silk tie. 

When he had finished this work he held the basket 
up, looked at it with a smile of satisfaction, and he was 
in the very act of handing it to the black boy when he 
caught sight of Publius, who went up to him from the 
garden-fence. 

In the name of all the gods, Lysias,” cried the 
Roman, without greeting his friend, ‘^what fool’s trick 
are you at there again! Are you turned oil-seller, or 
have you taken to training pigeons?” 

I am the one, and I am doing the other,” answered 
the Corinthian with a laugh, for he it was to whom the 
Roman’s speech was addressed. ‘^How do you like 
my nest of young doves? It strikes me as uncom- 
monly pretty, and how v/ell the golden circlet that links 
their necks becomes the little creatures ! ” 

* A long square cloak, and an indispensable part of the dress of the Greeks. 

21 * 


324 


THE SISTERS. 


“Here, put out your claws, you black crocodile," 
he continued, turning to his little assistant, “carry the 
basket carefully into the house, and repeat what I say, 
‘From the love-sick Lysias to the fair Irene’ — Only 
look, Publius, how the little monster grins at me with 
his white teeth. You shall hear that his Greek is far 
less faultless than his teeth. Prick up your ears, you 
little ichneumon — now once more repeat what you are 
to say in there — do you see — where I am pointing with 
my finger? — to the master or to the lady who shall take 
the doves from you." 

With much pitiful stammering the boy repeated the 
Corinthian’s message to Irene, and as he stood there 
with his mouth wide open, Lysias, who was an expert 
at “ducks and drakes" on the water, neatly tossed into 
it a silver drachma. This mouthful was much to the 
little rascal’s taste, for after he had taken the coin out 
of his mouth he stood with wide-open jaws opposite his 
liberal master, waiting for another throw; Lysias how- 
ever boxed him lightly on his ears, and chucked him 
under the chin, saying as he snapped the boy’s teetli 
together: 

“Now carry up the birds and wait for the answer." 

“ This offering is to Irene, then ? " said Publius. 
“ WeTrave not met for a long time; where were you all 
day yesterday ? " 

“It will be far more entertaining to hear what you 
were about all the night long. You are dressed as if 
you had come straight here from Rome. Euergetes has 
already sent for you once this morning, and the queen 
twice; she is over head and ears in love with you." 

“Folly! Tell me now what you were doing all yes- 
terday." 


THE SISTERS. 


325 

^‘Tell me first where you have been.” 

I had to go some distance and will tell you all 
about it later, but not now ; and I encountered strange 
things on my way — aye, I must say extraordinary things. 
Before sunrise I found a bed in the inn yonder, and to 
my own great surprise I slept so soundly that I awoke 
only two hours since.” 

‘^"hat is a very meagre report; but I know of old 
that if you do not choose to speak no god could drag 
a syllable from you. As regards myself I should do 
myself an injury by being silent, for my heart is like an 
overloaded beast of burden and talking will relieve it. 
Ah! Publius, my fate to-day is that of the helpless Tan- 
talus, who sees juicy pears bobbing about under his nose 
and tempting his hungry stomach, and yet they never 
let him catch hold of them, only look — in there dwells 
Irene, the pear, the peach, the pomegranate, and my 
thirsting heart is consumed with longing for her. You 
may laugh — but to-day Paris might meet Helen with 
impunity, for Eros has shot his whole store of arrows 
into me. You cannot see them, but I can feel 
them, for not one of them has he drawn out of the 
wound. And the darling little thing herself is not 
wholly untouched by the winged boy’s darts. She has 
confessed so much to me myself. It is impossible 
for me to refuse her any thing, and so I was fool enough 
to swear a horrible oath that I would not try to see 
her till she was reunited to her tall solemn sister, of 
whom I am exceedingly afraid. Yesterday I lurked 
outside this house just as a hungry wolf in cold 
weather sneaks about a temple where lambs are being 
sacrificed, only to see her, or at least to hear a word 
from her lips, for when she speaks it is like the song of 


326 


THE SISTERS. 


nightingales — but all in vain. Early this morning I 
came back to the city and to this spot; and as hanging 
about forever was of no use, I bought up the stock of 
the old oil-seller, who is asleep there in the corner, and 
settled myself in his stall, for here no one can escape me, 
who enters or quits Apollodorus’ house — and, besides, 
I am only forbidden to visit Irene; she herself allows 
me to send her greetings, and no one forbids me, not 
even Apollodorus, to whom I spoke an hour ago.’^ 

“ And that basket of birds that your dusky errand- 
boy carried into the house just now, was such a ‘greet- 
ing?’” 

“ Of course — that is the third already. First I sent 
her a lovely nosegay of fresh pomegranate-blossoms, and 
with it a few verses I hammered out in the course of 
the night; then a basket of peaches which she likes 
very much, and now the doves. And there lie her an- 
swers — the dear, sweet creature! For my nosegay I 
got this red riband, for the fruit this peach with a piece 
bitten out. Now I am anxious to see what I shall get 
for my doves. I bought that little brown scamp in the 
market, and I shall take him with me to Corinth as a 
remembrance of Memphis, if he brings me back some- 
thing^retty this time. There, I hear the door, that is 
he; come here youngster, what have you brought?” 

Publius stood with his arms crossed behind his back, 
hearing and watching the excited speech and gestures 
of his friend who seemed to him, to-day more than ever, 
one of those careless darlings of the gods, whose auda- 
cious proceedings give us pleasure because they match 
with their appearance and manner, and we feel they 
can no more help their vagaries than a tree can help 
blossoming. As soon as Lysias spied a small packet in 


THE sistp:rs. 


327 


the boy’s hand he did not take it from him but -snatched 
up the child, who was by no means remarkably small, 
by the leather belt that fastened up his loin-cloth, tossed 
him up as if he were a plaything, and set him down on 
the table by his side, exclaiming: 

“I will teach you to fly, my little hippopotamus! 
Now, show me what you have got.” 

He hastily took the packet from the hand of the 
youngster, who looked quite disconcerted, weighed it in 
his hand and said, turning to Publius: 

“There is something tolerably heavy in this — what 
can it contain?” 

“ I am quite inexperienced in such matters,” replied 
the Roman. 

“And I much experienced,” answered Lysias. “It 
might be, wait — it might be the clasp of her girdle in 
here. Feel, it is certainly something hard.” 

Publius carefully felt the packet that the Corinthian 
held out to him, with his fingers, and then said with a 
smile: 

“I can guess what you have there, and if I am 
right I' shall be much pleased. Irene, I believe, has 
returned you the gold bracelet on a little wooden 
tablet.” 

“Nonsense!” answered Lysias. “The ornament 
was prettily wrought and of some value, and every girl 
is fond of ornaments.” 

‘‘Your Corinthian friends are, at any rate. But look 
what the wrapper contains.” 

“ Do you open it,” said the Corinthian. 

Publius first untied a thread, then unfolded a small 
piece of white linen, and came at last to an object 
wrapped in a bit of flimsy, cheap papyrus. When this 


328 


THE SISTERS. 


last envelope was removed, the bracelet was in fact dis- 
covered, and under it lay a small wax tablet. 

Lysias was by no means pleased with this discovery, 
and looked disconcerted and annoyed at the return of 
his gift; but he soon mastered his vexation, and said 
turning to his friend, who was not in the least mali- 
ciously triumphant, but who stood looking thoughtfully 
at the ground. 

Here is something on the little tablet — the sauce 
no doubt to the peppered dish she has set before me.” 

‘‘Still, eat it,” interrupted Publius. “It may do you 
good for the future.” 

Lysias took the tablet in his hand, and after con- 
sidering it carefully on both sides he said : 

“It belongs to the sculptor, for there is his name. 
And there — why she has actually spiced the sauce or, 
if you like it better the bitter dose, with verses. They 
are written more clearly than beautifully, still they are 
of the learned sort.” 

“Well?” asked the Roman with curiosity, as Lysias 
read the lines to himself; the Greek did not look up 
from the writing but sighed softly, and rubbing the side 
of his finely-cut nose with his finger he replied: 

“Very pretty, indeed, for any one to whom they are 
not directly addressed. Would you like to hear the 
distich?” 

“ Read it to me, I beg of you.” 

“Well then,” said the Corinthian, and sighing again 
he read aloud: 

‘ Sweet is the lot of the couple whom love has united ; 

But gold is a debt, and needs must at once be restored.’ 

“There, that is the dose. But doves are not human 


THE SISTERS. 


329 


creatures, and I know at once what my answer shall 
be. Give me the fibula, Publius, that clasps that cloak 
in which you look like one of your own messengers. I 
will write my answer on the wax.” 

The Roman handed to Lysias the golden circlet 
armed with a strong pin, and while he stood holding 
his cloak together with his hands, as he was anxious to 
avoid recognition by the passers-by that frequented this 
street, the Corinthian wrote as follows : 

“ When doves are courting the lover adorns himself only ; 

But when a youth loves, he fain would adorn his beloved.’* 

‘‘Am I allowed to hear it?” asked Publius, and his 
friend at once read him the lines; then he gave the 
tablet to the boy, with the bracelet which he hastily 
wrapped up again, and desired him to take it back im- 
mediately to the fair Irene. But the Roman detained 
the lad, and laying his hand on the Greek’s shoulder, he 
asked him: “And if the young girl accepts this gift, and 
after it many more besides — since you are rich enough 
to make her presents to her heart’s content — what then, 
Lysias?” 

“What then?” repeated the other with more indeci- 
sion and embarrassment than was his wont. “Then I 
wait for Klea’s return home and — Aye! you may laugh 
at me, but I have been thinking seriously of marrying 
this girl, and taking her with me to Corinth. I am my 
father’s only son, and for the last three years he has 
given me no peace. He is bent on my mother’s find- 
ing me a wife or on my choosing one for myself And 
if I took him the pitch-black sister of this swarthy lout 
I believe he would be glad. I never was more madly 
in love with any girl than with this little Irene, as true 


330 


THE SISTERS. 


as T am your friend; but I know why you are looking 
at me with a frown like Zeus the Thunderer. You 
know of what consequence our family is in Corinth, and 
when I think of that, then to be sure — 

‘‘Then to be sure?” enquired the Roman in sharp, 
grave tone. 

“Then I reflect that a water-bearer — the daughter 
of an outlawed man, in our house — ” 

“ And do you consider mine as being any less il- 
lustrious in Rome than your own is in Corinth ? ” asked 
Publius sternly. 

“ On the contrary, Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica. 
We are important by our wealth, you by your power 
and estates.” 

“So it is — and yet I am about to conduct Irene’s 
sister Klea as my lawful wife to my father’s house.” 

“ You are going to do that ! ” cried Lysias spring- 
ing from his seat, and flinging himself on the Roman’s 
breast, though at this moment a party of Egyptians were 
passing by in the deserted street. “ Then all is well, 
then — oh ! what a weight is taken off my mind ! — then 
Irene shall be my wife as sure as I live ! Oh Eros and 
Aphrodite and Father Zeus and Apollo ! how happy 
I am ! I feel as if the biggest of the Pyramids yonder 
had Iktlen off my heart. Now, you rascal, run up and 
carry to the fair Irene, the betrothed of her faithful 
Lysias — mark what I say — carry her at once this tablet 
and bracelet. But you will not say it right; I will 
write here above my distich : ‘ From the faithful Lysias 
to the fair Irene his future wife.’ There — and now I 
think she will not send the thing back again, good girl 
that she is ! Listen, rascal, if she keeps it you may 
swallow cakes to-day out on the Grand Square till you 


THE SISTERS. 


331 


burst — and yet I have only just paid five gold pieces 
for you. Will she keep the bracelet, Publius — yes or 
no.” 

She will keep it.” 

A few minutes later the boy came hurrying back, 
and pulling the Greek vehemently by his dress, he 
cried : 

Come, come with me, into the house.” Lysias 
with a light and graceful leap sprang right over the little 
fellow^s head, tore open the door, and spread out his 
arms as he caught sight of Irene, who, though trembling 
like a hunted gazelle, flew down the narrow ladder-like 
stairs to meet him, and fell on his breast laughing and 
crying and breathless. 

In an instant their lips met, but after this first kiss 
she tore herself from his arms, rushed up the stairs again, 
and then, from the top step, shouted joyously : 

“ I could not help seeing you this once! now fare- 
well till Klea comes, then we meet again,” and she van- 
ished into an upper room. 

Lysias turned to his friend like one intoxicated, he 
threw himself down on his bench, and said : 

“ Now the heavens may fall, nothing can trouble 
me ! Ye immortal gods, how fair the world is I ” 

‘‘ Strange boy I ” exclaimed the Roman, interrupt- 
ing his friend’s rapture. You can not stay for ever in 
this dingy stall.” 

I will not stir from this spot till Klea comes. The 
boy there shall fetch me victuals as an old sparrow feeds 
his young; and if necessary I will lie here for a week, like 
the little sardines they preserve in oil at Alexandria.” 

I hope you will have only a few hours to wait ; 
but I must go, for I am planning a rare surprise for 


332 


THE SISTERS. 


King Euergetes on his birthday, and must go to the 
palace. The festival is already in full swing. Only 
listen how they are shouting and calling down by the 
harbor; I fancy I can hear the name of Euergetes.” 

“ Present my compliments to the fat monster ! May 
we meet again soon — brother-in-law ! ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

King Euergetes was pacing restlessly up and 
down the lofty room which his brother had furnished 
with particular magnificence to be his reception-room. 
Hardly had the sun risen on the morning of his birth- 
day when he had betaken himself to the temple of Ptah 
with a numerous suite — before his brother Philometor 
could set out — in order to sacrifice there, to win the 
good graces of the high-priest of the sanctuary, and to 
question of the oracle of Apis. All had fallen out well, 
for the sacred bull had eaten out of his hand ; and yet he 
would have been more glad — though it should have dis- 
dained the cake he offered it, if only Eulaeus had brought 
him the news that the plot against the Roman’s life had 
beerr^uccessful. 

Gift after gift, addresses of congratulation from every 
district of the country, priestly decrees drawn up in his 
honor and engraved on tablets of hard stone, lay on 
every table or leaned against the walls of the vast hall 
which the guests had just quitted. Only Hierax, the 
king’s friend, remained with him, supporting himself, 
while he waited for some sign from his sovereign, on a 
high throne made of gold and ivory and richly deco- 


THE SISTERS. 


335 


rated with gems, which had been sent to the king by the 
Jewish community of Alexandria. 

The great commander knew his master well, and 
knew too that it was not prudent to address him when 
he looked as he did now. But Euergetes himself was 
aware of the need for speech, and he began, without 
pausing in his walk or looking at his dignified friend: 

‘‘Even the Philobasilistes have proved corrupt; my 
soldiers in the citadel are more numerous and are better 
men too than those that have remained faithful to 
Philometor, and there ought to be nothi^ig more for me 
to do but to stir up a brief clatter of swords on shields, 
to spring upon the throne, and to have myself pro- 
claimed king ; but I will never go into the field with the 
strongest division of the enemy in my rear. My broth- 
er’s head is on my sister’s shoulders, and so long as I 
am not certain of her — ” 

A chamberlain rushed into the room as the king 
spoke, and interrupted him by shouting out: 

“ Queen Cleopatra.” 

A smile of triumph flashed across the features of the 
young giant ; he flung himself with an air of indiffer- 
ence on to a purple divan, and desired that a magnifi- 
cent lyre made of ivory, and presented to him by his 
sister, should be brought to him ; on it was carved with 
wonderful skill and delicacy a representation of the first 
marriage, that of Cadmus with Harmonia, at which all 
the gods had attended as guests. 

Euergetes grasped the chords with wonderful vigor 
and m.astery, and began to play a wedding march, in 
which eager triumph alternated with tender whisperings 
of love and longing. 

The chamberlain, whose duty it was to introduce the 


334 


THE SISTERS. 


queen to her brother’s presence, ^vishedto interrupt this 
performance of his sovereign’s ; but Cleopatra held him 
back, and stood listening at the door with her children 
till Euergetes had brought the air to a rapid conclusion 
with a petulant sweep of the strings, and a loud and ear- 
piercing discord; then he flung his lute on the couch 
and rose with well-feigned surprise, going forward to 
meet the queen as if, absorbed in playing, he had not 
heard her approach. 

He greeted his sister affectionately, holding out 
both his hands to her, and spoke to the children — who 
were not afraid of him, for he knew how to play 
madcap games with them like a great frolicsome boy — 
welcoming them as tenderly as if he were their own 
father. 

He could not weary of thanking Cleopatra for her 
thoughtful present — so appropriate to him, who like 
Cadmus longed to boast of having mastered Harmonia, 
and finally — she not having found a word to say — he 
took her by the hand to exhibit to her the presents sent 
him by her husband and from the provinces. But Cleo- 
patra seemed to take little pleasure in all these things, 
and said: 

‘‘Yes, everything is admirable, just as it has always 
beerT'every year for the last twenty years; but I did not 
come here to see but to listen.” 

Her brother was radiant wdth satisfaction ; she on 
the contrary was pale and grave, and could only now 
and then compel herself to a forced smile. 

“ I fancied,” said Euergetes, “ that your desire to 
wish me joy was the principal thing that had brought 
you here, and, indeed, my vanity requires me to believe 
it. Philometor was with me quite early, and fulfilled 


THE SISTERS. 


33S 


that duty with touching affection. When will he go into 
the banqueting-hall ? ” 

“In half an hour; and till then tell me, I entreat you, 
what yesterday you — ” 

“The best events are those that are long in prepar- 
ing,” interrupted her brother. “ May I ask you to let 
the children, with their attendants, retire for a few min- 
utes into the inner rooms? ” 

“At once! ” cried Cleopatra eagerly, and she pushed 
her eldest boy, who clamorously insisted on remaining 
with his uncle, violently out of the door without giving 
his -Attendant time to quiet him or take him in her 
arms. 

While she was endeavoring, with angry scolding and 
cross words, to hasten the children’s departure, Eulaeus 
came into the room. Euergetes, as soon as he saw him, 
set every limb with rigid resolve, and drew breath so 
deeply that his broad chest heaved high, and a strong 
respiration parted his lips as he went forward to meet 
the eunuch, slowly but with an enquiring look. 

Eulaeus cast a significant glance at Hierax and Cleo- 
patra, went quite close up to the king, whispered a few 
words into his ear, and answered his brief questions in 
a low voice. 

“It is well,” said Euergetes at last, and with a de- 
cisive gesture of his hand he dismissed Eulaeus and his 
friend from the room. 

Then he stood, as pale as death, his teeth set in his 
under-lip, and gazing blankly at the ground. 

He had his will; Publius Cornelius Scipio lived no 
more; his ambition might reach without hindrance the 
utmost limits of his desires, and yet he could not rejoice; 
he could not escape from a deep horror of himself, 


33 ® 


THE SISTERS. 


and he struck his broad forehead with his clenched 
fists. He was face to face with his first dastardly mur- 
der. 

‘‘And what news does Eulaeus bring?” asked Cleo- 
patra in anxious excitement, for she had never before 
seen her brother like this; but he did not hear these 
words, and it was not till she had repeated them with 
more insistence that he collected himself, stared at her 
from head to foot with a fixed, gloomy expression, and 
then, letting his hand fall on her shoulder so heavily that 
her knees bent under her and she gave a little cry, asked 
her in a low but meaning tone: 

“Are you strong enough to bear to hear great 
news ? ” 

“ Speak,” she said in a low voice, and her eyes were 
fixed on his lips while she pressed her hand on her 
heart. Her anxiety to hear fettered her to him, as with 
a tangible tie, and he, as if he must burst it by the force 
of his utterance, said with awful solemnity, in his deep- 
est tones and emphasizing every syllable: 

“ Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica is dead.” 

At these words Cleopatra’s pale cheeks were sud- 
denly dyed with a crimson glow, and clenching her 
little hands she struck them together, and exclaimed 
with'^ashing eyes: 

“I hoped so!” 

Euergetes withdrew a step from his sister, and said: 

“You were right. It is not only among the race of 
gods that the most fearful of all are women!” 

“ What have you to say ? ” retorted Cleopatra. “ And 
am I to believe that a toothache has kept the Roman 
away from the banquet yesterday, and again from com- 
ing to see me to-day? Am I to repeat, after you, that 


THE SISTERS. 


337 


he died of it? Now, speak out, for it rejoices my heart 
to hear it ; where and how did the insolent hypocrite 
meet his end?’’ 

‘‘A serf)ent stung him,” replied Euergetes, turning 
from his sister. ‘‘It was in the desert, not far from the 
Apis-tombs.” 

“He had an assignation in the Necropolis at mid- 
night — it would seem to have begun more pleasantly 
than it ended?” 

Euergetes nodded assent to the question, and added 
gravely : 

“ His fate overtook him — but I cannot see anything 
very pleasing in the matter.” 

“No?” asked the queen. “And do you think that 
I do not know the asp that ended that life in its prime ? 
Do you think that I do not know, who set the poisoned 
serpent on the Roman ? You are the assassin, and Eu- 
Iseus and his accomplices have helped you ! Only yester- 
day I would have given my heart’s blood for Publius, and 
would rather have carried you to the grave than him; 
but to-day, now that I know the game that the wretch 
has been playing with me, I would even have taken on 
myself the bloody deed which, as it is, stains your 
hands. Not even a god should treat your sister with 
such contempt — should insult her as he has done — and 
go unpunished! Another has already met the same 
fate, as you know — Eustorgos, Hipparchon of Bithynia, 
who, while he seemed to be dying of love for me, was 
courting Kallistrata my lady in waiting ; and the wild 
beasts and serpents exercised their dark arts on him too. 
Eulaeus’ intelligence has fallen on you, who are power- 
ful, like a cold hand on your heart; in me, the weak 
woman, it rouses unspeakable delight. I gave him the 


22 


338 


THE SISTERS. 


best of all a woman has to bestow, and he dared to 
trample it in the dust; and had I no right to require of 
him that he should pour out the best that he had, which 
was his life, in the same way as he had dared to serve 
mine, which is my love? I have a right to rejoice at 
his death. Aye! the heavy lids now close those bright 
eyes which could be falser than the stern lips that were 
so apt to praise truth. The faithless heart is forever still 
which could scorn the love of a queen — and for what? 
For whom? Oh, ye pitiful gods!” 

With these words the queen sobbed aloud, hastily 
lifting her hands to cover her eyes, and ran to the door 
by which she had entered her brother’s rooms. 

But Euergetes stood in her way, and said sternly and 
positively : 

“You are to stay here till I return. Collect yourself, 
for at the next event which this momentous day will 
bring forth it will be my turn to laugh while your blood 
shall run cold.” And with a few swift steps he left the 
hall. 

Cleopatra buried her face in the soft cushions of the 
couch, and wept without ceasing, till she was presently 
startled by loud cries and the clatter of arms. Her 
quick wit told her what was happening. In frantic 
haste she flew to the door but it was locked; no shak- 
ing, no screaming, no thumping seemed to reach the 
ears of the guard whom she heard monotonously walk- 
ing up and down outside her prison. 

And now the tumult and clang of arms grew louder 
and louder, and the rattle of drums and blare of trum- 
pets began to mingle with the sound. She rushed to 
the window in mortal fear, and looked down into the 
palace-yard; at that same instant the door of the great 


THE SISTERS. 


339 


banqueting-hall was flung open, and a flying crowd 
streamed out in distracted confusion — then another, and 
a third — all troops in King Philometor’s uniform. She 
ran to the door of the room into which she had thrust 
her children; that too was locked. In her desperation 
she once more sprang to the window, shouted to the 
flying Macedonians to halt and make a stand — threat- 
ening and entreating; but no one heard her, and their 
number constantly increased, till at length she saw her 
husband standing on the threshold of the great hall with 
a gaping wound on his forehead, and defending himself 
bravely and stoutly with buckler and sword against the 
body-guard of his own brother, who were pressing hiin 
sorely. In agonized excitement she shouted encourag- 
ing words to him, and he seemed to hear her, for with 
a strong sweep of his shield he struck his nearest antag- 
onist to the earth, sprang with a mighty leap into the 
midst of his flying adherents, and vanished with them 
through the passage which led to the palace-stables. 

The queen sank fainting on her knees by the win- 
dow, and, through the gathering shades of her swoon 
her dulled senses still were conscious of the trampling 
of horses, of a shrill trumpet-blast, and at last of a swell- 
ing and echoing shout of triumph with cries of, Hail! 
hail to the son of the Sun — Hail to the uniter of the two 
kingdoms; Hail to the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, 
to Euergetes the god.” 

But at the last words she recovered consciousness 
entirely and started up. She looked down into the 
court again, and there saw her brother borne along on 
her husband’s throne-litter by dignitaries and nobles. 
Side by side with the traitor’s body-guard marched her 
own and Philometor’s Philobasilistes and Diadoches. 


22 


340 


THE SISTERS. 


The magnificent train went out of the great court 
of the palace, and then — as she heard the chanting of 
priests — she realized that she had lost her crown, and 
knew whither her faithless brother was proceeding. 

She ground her teeth as her fancy painted all that 
was now about to happen. Euergetes was being borne 
to the temple of Ptah, and proclaimed by its astonished 
chief-priests, as King of Upper and Lower Egypt, and 
successor to Philometor. Four pigeons would be let 
fly in his presence to announce to the four quarters of 
the heavens that a new sovereign had mounted the 
throne of his fathers, and amid prayer and sacrifice a 
golden sickle would be presented to him with which, 
according to ancient custom, he would cut an ear of 
com. 

Betrayed by her brother, abandoned by her husband, 
parted from her children, scorned by the man she had 
loved, dethroned and powerless, too weak and too ut- 
terly crushed to dream of revenge— she spent two inter- 
minably long hours in the keenest anguish of mind, shut 
up in her prison which was overloaded with splendor 
and with gifts. If poison had heen within her reach, 
in that hour she would unhesitatingly have put an end 
to her ruined life. Now she walked restlessly up and 
down, asking herself what her fate would be, and now 
she flung herself on the couch and gave herself up to 
dull despair. 

There lay the lyre she had given to her brother; 
her eye fell on the relievo of the marriage of Cadmus 
and Harmonia, and on the figure of a woman who was 
offering a jewel to the bride. The bearer of the gift 
was the goddess of love, and the ornament she gave 
— so ran the legend — ^brought misfortune on those who 


THE SISTERS. 


341 


inherited it. All the darkest hours of her life revived 
in her memory, and the blackest of them all had come 
upon her as the outcome of Aphrodite’s gifts. She 
thought with a shudder of the murdered Roman, and 
remembered the moment when Eulaeus had told her 
that her Eithynian lover had been killed by wild beasts. 
She rushed from one door to another — the victim of 
the avenging Eumenides — shrieked from the window 
for rescue and help, and in that one hour lived through 
a whole year of agonies and terrors. 

At last — at last, the door of the room was opened, 
and Euergetes came towards her, clad in the purple, 
with the crown of the two countries on his grand head, 
radiant with triumph and delight. 

‘^All hail to you, sister!” he exclaimed in a cheerful 
tone, and lifting the heavy crown from his curling hair. 
‘‘You ought to be proud to-day, for your own brother 
has risen to high estate, and is now King of Upper and 
Lower Egypt.” 

Cleopatra turned from him, but he followed her and 
tried to take her hand. She however snatched it away, 
exclaiming : 

“Fill up the measure of your deeds, and insult the 
woman whom you have robbed and made a widow. It 
was with a prophecy on your lips that you went forth 
just now to perpetrate your greatest crime; but it falls 
on your own head, for you laugh over our misfortune — 
and it cannot regard me, for my blood does not run 
cold ; I am not overwhelmed nor hopeless, and I shall — ” 

“You,” interrupted Euergetes, at first with a loud 
voice, which presently became as gentle as though he 
were revealing to her the prospect of a future replete 
with enjoyment, “You shall retire to your roof-tent with 


342 


THE SISTERS. 


your children, and there you shall be read to as much 
as you like, eat as many dainties as you can, wear as 
many splendid dresses as you can desire, receive my 
visits and gossip with me as often as my society may 
seem agreeable to you — as yours is to me now and at 
all times. Besides all this you may display your spark- 
ling wit before as many Greek and Jewish men of letters 
or learning as you can command, till each and all are 
dazzled to blindness. Perhaps even before that you 
may win back your freedom, and with it a full treasury, 
a stable full of noble horses, and a magnificent residence 
in the royal palace on the Bruchion in gay Alexandria. 
It depends only on how soon our brother Philometor — 
who fought like a lion this morning — perceives that he 
is more fit to be a commander of horse, a lute-player, 
an attentive host of word-splitting guests — than the 
ruler of a kingdom. Now, is it not worthy of note to 
those who, like you and me, sister, love to investigate 
the phenomena of our spiritual life, that this man — who 
in peace is as yielding as wax, as week as a reed — is as 
tough and as keen in battle as a finely tempered sword? 
We hacked bravely at each other’s shields, and I owe 
this slash here on my shoulder to him. If Hierax — 
who is in pursuit of him with his horsemen — is lucky 
and -catches him in time, he will no doubt give up the 
crown of his own free will.” 

“Then he is not yet in your power, and he had time 
to mount a horse!” cried Cleopatra, her eyes sparkling 
with satisfaction; “then all is not yet lost for us. If 
Philometor can but reach Rome, and lay our case be- 
fore the Senate — ” 

“Then he might certainly have some prospect of 
help from the Republic, for Rome does not love to see 


THE SISTERS. 


343 


a strong king on the throne of Egypt,” said Euergetes. 

But you have lost your mainstay by the Tiber, and I 
am about to make all the Scipios and the whole gens 
Cornelia my stanch allies, for I mean to have the de- 
ceased Roman burnt with the finest cedar- wood and 
Arabian spices; sacrifices shall be slaughtered at the 
same time as if he had been a reigning king, and his 
ashes shall be sent to Ostia and Rome in the costliest 
specimen of Vasa murrina* that graces my treasure- 
house, and on a ship specially fitted, and escorted by 
the noblest of my friends. The road to the rampart of 
a hostile city lies over corpses, and I, as general and 
king—” 

Euergetes suddenly broke off in his sentence, for a 
loud noise and vehement talking were heard outside 
the door. Cleopatra too had not failed to observe it, 
and listened with aleV attention; for on such a day and 
in these apartments every dialogue, every noise in the 
king’s antechamber might be of grave purport. 

Euergetes did not deceive himself in this matter any 
more than his sister, and he went towards the door hold- 
ing the sacrificial sickle, which formed part of his rega- 
lia, in his right hand. But he had not crossed the room 
when Eulaeus rushed in, as pale as death, and calling 
out to his sovereign: 

‘‘The murderers have betrayed us; Publius Scipio 
is alive, and insists on being admitted to speak with 
you.” 

The king’s armed hand fell by his side, and for a 
moment he gazed blankly into vacancy, but the next 


* The material of which these highly esteemed vases were made is not cer- 
tainly known. It was possibly a fine kind of glass . — Lije oj the Greeks and 
Romans. Guhl and Koner. 


344 


THE SISTERS. 


instant he had recovered himself, and roared in a voice 
which filled the room like rolling thunder: 

‘‘Who dares to hinder the entrance of my friend 
Publius Cornelius Scipio ? And are you still here, Eu- 
laeus — you scoundrel and you villain! The first case 
that I, as King of Upper and Lower Egypt, shall open 
for trial will be that which this man — who is your foe 
and my friend — proposes to bring against you. Wel- 
come! most welcome on my birthday, my noble 
friend! ” 

The last words were addressed to Publius, who now 
entered the room with stately dignity, and clad in the 
ample folds of the white toga worn by Romans of high 
birth. He held a sealed roll or despatch in his right 
hand, and, while he bowed respectfully to Cleopatra, he 
seemed entirely to overlook the hands King Euergetes 
held out in welcome. After his first greeting had been 
disdained by the Roman, Euergetes would not have 
offered him a second if his life had depended on it. 
He crossed his arms with royal dignity, and said: 

“ I am grieved to receive your good wishes the last 
of all that have been offered me on this happy day.” 

“Then you must have changed your mind,” replied 
Publius, drawing up his slight figure, which was taller 
than -the king’s, “You have no lack of docile instru- 
ments, and last night you were fully determined to re- 
ceive my first congratulations in the realm of shades.” 

“My sister,” answered Euergetes, shrugging his 
shoulders, “was only yesterday singing the praises of 
your uncultured plainness of speech; but to-day it is 
your pleasure to speak in riddles like an Egyptian 
oracle.” 

“They cannot, however, be difficult to solve by you 


THE SISTERS. 


345 


and your minions,” replied Publius coldly, as he pointed 
to Eulseus. ‘‘The serpents which you command have 
powerful poisons and sharp fangs at their disposal; this 
time, however, they mistook their victim, and have sent 
a poor recluse of Serapis to Hades instead of one of 
their king’s guests.” 

“Your enigma is harder than ever,” cried the king. 
“ My intelligence at least is unequal to solve it, and I 
must request you to speak in less dark language or else 
to explain your meaning.” 

“Later, I will,” said Publius emphatically, “but these 
things concern myself alone, and I stand here now com- 
missioned by the State of Rome which I serve. To-day 
Juventius Thalna will arrive here as ambassador from 
the Republic, and this document from the Senate ac- 
credits me as its representative until his arrival.” 

Euergetes took the sealed roll which Publius offered 
to him. While he tore it open, and hastily looked 
through its contents, the door was again thrown open 
and Hierax, the king’s trusted friend, appeared on the 
threshold with a flushed face and hair in disorder. 

“ We have him ! ” he cried before he came in. “ He 
fell from his horse near Heliopolis.” 

“Philometor?” screamed Cleopatra, flinging herself 
upon Hierax. “He fell from his horse — you have 
murdered him?” 

The tone in which the words were said was so full 
of grief and horror that the general said compassion- 
ately : 

“ Calm yourself, noble lady ; your husband’s wound 
in the forehead is not dangerous. The physicians in the 
great hall of the temple of the Sun bound it up, and al- 
lowed me to bring him hither on a litter.” 


346 


THE SISTERS. 


Without hearing Hierax to the .end Cleopatra flew 
towards the door, but Euergetes barred her way and 
gave his orders with that decision which characterized 
him, and which forbade all contradiction: 

“You will remain here till I myself conduct you to 
him. I wish to have you both near me.” 

“So that you may force us by every torment to re- 
sign the throne!” cried Cleopatra. “You are in luck 
to-day, and we are your prisoners.” 

“You are free, noble queen,” said the Roman to the 
poor woman, who was trembling in every limb. “And 
on the strength of my plenipotentiary powers I here de- 
mand the liberty of King Philometor, in the name of 
the Senate of Rome.” 

At these words the blood mounted to King Euer- 
getes’ face and eyes, and, hardly master of himself, he 
stammered out rather than said : 

“Popilius Laenas drew a circle round my uncle 
Antiochus, and threatened him with the enmity of Rome 
if he dared to overstep it. You might excel the exam- 
ple set you by your bold countryman — whose family 
indeed was far less illustrious than yours — but I— T — ” 

“You are at liberty to oppose the will of Rome,” 
interrupted Publius with dry formality, “but, if you ven- 
ture Qn^/it, Rome, by me, will withdraw her friendship. 
I stand here in the name of the Senate, whose purpose 
it is to uphold the treaty which snatched this country 
from the Syrians, and by which you and your brother 
pledged yourselves to divide the realm of Egypt between 
you. It is not in my power to alter what has happened 
here; but it is incumbent on me so to act as to enable 
Rome to distribute to each of you that which is your 
due, according to the treaty ratified by the Republic. 


THE SISTERS. 


347 


In all questions which bear upon that compact Rome 
alone must decide, and it is my duty to take care that 
the plaintiff is not prevented from appearing alive and 
free before his protectors. So, in the name of the Sen- 
ate, King Euergetes, I require you to permit King Philo- 
metor your brother, and Queen Cleopatra your sister, 
to proceed hence, whithersoever they will.” Euergetes, 
breathing hard in impotent fury, alternately doubling 
his fists, and extending his quivering fingers, stood op- 
posite the Roman who looked enquiringly in his face 
with cool composure ; for a short space both wxre silent. 
Then Euergetes, pushing his hands through his hair, 
shook his head violently from side to side, and ex- 
claimed : 

‘‘Thank the Senate from me, and say that I know 
what we owe to it, and admire the wisdom which pre- 
fers to see Egypt divided rather than united in one 
strong hand — Philometor is free, and you also Cleo- 
patra.” 

For a moment he was again silent, then he laughed 
loudly, and cried to the queen : 

“ As for you sister — your tender heart will of course 
bear you on the wings of love to the side of your 
wounded husband.” 

Cleopatra’s pale cheeks had flushed scarlet at the 
Roman’s speech; she vouchsafed no answer to her 
brother’s ironical address, but advanced proudly to the 
door. As she passed Publius she said with a farewell 
wave of her pretty hand. 

“We are much indebted to the Senate.” 

Publius bowed low, and she, turning away from him, 
quitted the room. 

“You have forgotten your fan, and your children ! 


348 


THE SISTERS. 


the king called after her; but Cleopatra did not hear 
his words, for, once outside her brother’s apartment, all 
her forced and assumed composure flew to the winds ; 
she clasped her hands on her temples, and rushed down 
the broad stairs of the palace as if she were pursued by 
fiends. 

When the sound of her steps had died away, Euer- 
getes turned to the Roman and said: 

‘^Now, as you have fulfilled what you deem to be 
your duty, I beg of you to explain the meaning of your 
dark speeches just now, for they were addresed to Euer- 
getes the man, and not the king. If I understood you 
rightly you meant to imply that your life had been at- 
tempted, and that one of those extraordinary old men 
devoted to Serapis had been murdered instead of you.” 

^‘By your orders and those of your accomplice 
Eulaeus,” answered Publius coolly. 

Eulaeus, come here!” thundered the king to the 
trembling courtier, with a fearful and threatening glare 
in his eyes. “ Have you hired murderers to kill my 
friend — this noble guest of our royal house — because he 
threatened to bring your crimes to light ? ” 

Mercy ! ” whimpered Eulaeus sinking on his knees 
before the king. 

‘‘-He confesses his crime ! ” cried Euergetes ; he laid 
his hand on the girdle of his weeping subordinate, 
and commanded Hierax to hand him over without de- 
lay to the watch, and to have him hanged before all be- 
holders by the great gate of the citadel. Eulaeus tried 
to pray for mercy and to speak, but the powerful officer, 
who hated the contemptible wretch, dragged him up, 
and out of the room. 

“ You were quite right to lay your complaint before 


THE SISTERS. 


349 


n:e/’ said Euergetes while Eulaeus’ cries and howls were 
still audible on the stairs. ‘‘And you see that I know 
how to punish those who dare to offend a guest.” 

“He has only met with the portion he has de- 
served for years,” replied Publius. “ But now that we 
stand face to face, man to man, I must close my ac- 
count with you too. In your service and by your 
orders Eulaeus set two assassins to lie in wait for me — ” 

“ Publius Cornelius Scipio ! ” cried the king, inter- 
rupting his enemy in an ominous tone ; but the Roman 
went on, calmly and quietly : 

“ I am saying nothing that I cannot support by 
witnesses ; and I have truly set forth, in two letters, that 
king Euergetes during the past night has attempted the 
life of an ambassador from Rome. One of these de- 
spatches is addressed to my father, the other to Popilius 
Laenas, and both are already on their way to Rome. I 
have given instructions that they are to be opened if, in 
the course of three months reckoned from the present 
date, I have not demanded them back. You see you 
must needs make it convenient to protect my life, and 
to carry out whatever I may require of you. If you 
obey my will in everything I may demand, all that has 
happened this night shall remain a secret between you 
and me and a third person, for whose silence I will be 
answerable ; this I promise you, and I never broke my 
word.” 

“ Speak,” said the king flinging himself on the couch, 
and plucking the feathers from the fan Cleopatra had 
forgotten, while Publius went on speaking. 

“ First I demand a free pardon for Philotas of Syra- 
cuse, ‘relative of the king,’ and president of the body of 
the Chrematistes, his immediate release, with his wife, 


THE SISTERS. 


350 

from their forced labor, and their return from the 
mines.” 

“They both are dead,” said Euergetes, “ my brother 
can vouch for it.” 

“ Then I require you to have it declared by special 
decree that Philotas was condemned unjustly, and that 
he is reinstated in all the dignities he was deprived of. 
I farther demand that you permit me and my friend 
Lysias of Corinth, as well as Apollodorus the sculptor, 
to quit Egypt without let or hindrance, and with us 
Klea and Irene, the daughters of Philotas, who serve as 
water-bearers in the temple of Serapis. — Do you hesi- 
tate as to your reply ? ” 

“ No,” answered the king, and he tossed up his 
hand. “ For this once I have lost the game.” 

“ The daughters of Philotas, Klea and Irene,” con- 
tinued Publius with imperturbable coolness, “ are to have 
the confiscated estates of their parents restored to them.” 

“Then your sweetheart’s beauty does not satisfy 
you ! ” interposed Euergetes satirically. 

“ It amply satisfies me. My last demand is that half 
of this wealth shall be assigned to the temple of Serapis, 
so that the god may give up his serving-maidens will- 
ingly, and without raising any objections. The other 
half shall be handed over to Dicearchus, my agent in 
Alexandria, because it is my will that Klea and Irene 
shall not enter my own house or that of Lysias in Cor- 
inth as wives, without the dowry that beseems their 
rank. Now, within one hour, I must have both the 
decree and the act of restitution in my hands, for as soon 
as Juventius Thalna arrives here — and I expect him, as 
I told you this very day — we propose to leave Mem- 
phis, and to take ship at Alexandria.” 


THE SISTERS. 


3SI 


A strange conjuncture ! ” cried Euergetes. You 
deprive me alike of my revenge and my love, and yet 
I see myself compelled to wish you a pleasant journey. 
I must offer a sacrifice to Poseidon, to the Cyprian god- 
dess, and to the Dioscurides that they may vouchsafe 
your ship a favorable voyage, although it will carry the 
man who, in the future, can do us more injury at Rome 
by his bitter hostility, than any other.” 

I shall always take the part of which ever of you 
has justice on his side.” 

Publius quitted the room with a proud wave of his 
hand, and Euergetes, as soon as the door had closed 
behind the Roman, sprang from his couch, shook his 
clenched fist in angry threat, and cried : 

“You, you obstinate fellow and your haughty pa- 
trician clan may do me mischief enough by the Tiber ; 
and yet perhaps I may win the game in spite of you ! 

“ You cross my path in the name of the Roman 
Senate. If Philometor waits in the antechambers of 
consuls and senators we certainly may chance to meet 
there, but I shall also try my luck with the people and 
the tribunes. 

“It is very strange ! This head of mine hits upon 
more good ideas in an hour than a cool fellow like that 
has in a year, and yet I am beaten by him — and if I 
am honest I can not but confess that it was not his 
luck alone, but his shrewdness that gained the victory. 
He may be off as soon as he likes with his proud Hera 
— I can find a dozen Aphrodites in Alexandria in her 
place ! 

“ I resemble Hellas and he Rome, such as they are 
at present. We flutter in the sunshine, and seize on all 
that satisfies our intellect or gratifies our senses ; they 


352 


THE SISTERS. 


gaze at the earth, but walk on with a firm step to seek 
power and profit. And thus they get ahead of us, and 
yet — I would not change with them.” 


THE END. 


ADVERTISEMENTS 


GEORG EBERS’ ROMANCES. 


THE EMPEROR. A Romance, by Georg Ebers, translated by 
Clara Bell. Authorized edition, in two vols. 

Paper covers, 8o cents. Cloth binding, $1.50 per set. 

AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS. By Georg Ebers, translated by 
Eleanor Grove. Authorized edition, revised, corrected and enlarged 
from the latest German edition, in two vols. 

Paper covers, 80 cents. Cloth binding, $1.50 per set. 

UARDA. A Romance of Ancient Egypt, by Georg Ebers, trans- 
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Paper covers, 80 cents. Cloth binding, $1.50 set. 

HOMO SUM. A Novel, by Georg Ebers, translated by Clara 
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THE SISTERS. A Romance, by Georg Ebers, translated by 
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A QUESTION. The Idyl of a picture, by his friend Alma 
Tadema, related by Georg Ebers, translated by Mary J. Saftord. 
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Paper cover, 40 cents. Cloth binding, 75 cents. 

A WORD, ONLY A WORD. A Romance, by Georg Ebers, 
translated by Mary J. Safford, in one vol. 

Paper cover, 50 cents. Cloth binding, 90 cents. 

THE^-BURCOMASTER’S WIFE. A Romance, by Georg 
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Paper cover, 50 cents. Cloth binding, 75 cents. 


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A WORD, ONLY A WORD. — A Romance, by Georg* 
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‘‘ One never sits down to read a novel of Georg Ebers’ with- 
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instructed about the period that it depicts. ‘ A Word, Only a 
Word,’ which Miss Mary J. Salford has translated, is a story of 
folk-life in the Black Forest, of soldier-life in the countries about, 
and of art-life in Spain and the Netherlands. Out of these ele- 
ments and the religious persecutions of the time when the Jewish 
race was under the ban everywhere, he has constructed a plot of 
uncommon interest and vitality, abounding in stirring scenes, now 
in tents where poor men lie, and now in the abodes of the great, 
notably in the palace of the Spanish king, and has cast over the 
whole an air of reality which is delightful. The characters are 
skilfully elaborated, particularly the character of the hero Ulrich, 
who, in his strength and weakness, is a realized ideal of the artist 
of the period. There is a warm, human interest throughout, and 
a pervading sense of the picturesque that is inseparable from all 
that Ebers writes. ‘A Word, Only a Word,’ is the best family 
romantic story that we have read for a long time .” — The Mail 
and Express^ New York. 

THE BURGOMASTER^S WIFE.— A Romance, by 
Georg Ebers, from the German by Mary J. Safford, in 
one vol. Paper, 50 cts. Cloth, 75 cts. 

“ In this romance Dr. Ebers has chosen one of the most 
glorious passages in the history of the Netherlands for the centre 
of his plot. The scene opens in the year 1574, with the defeat 
and death of Prince Louis of Nassau at the hands of Raguesenes 
and his troops. This is followed by that siege of Leyden, which 
brought immortal glory to the friends of liberty in Holland, when 
the firmness of the citizens braved disaster, the loss of property 
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rarely equalled in the annals of ancient or modern warfare, opened 
in the face of friend and foe and thus, at the cost of immense de- 
struction to life and property, the Spaniards were forced to retreat, 
the flower of the attacking forces being overwhelmed or burned 
in the rising marshes. How effectively Dr. Ebers has treated 
such a drama in Holland’s struggle for freedom those who have 
read his previous works need not be informed .” — The Gazette^ 
Montreal. 

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QUINTUS CLAUDIUS. — A Romance of Imperial Rome, 
by Ernst Eckstein, from the German by Clara Bell, in 
two vols. Paper, $i.oo. Cloth, $1.75* 

<<We owe to Eckstein the brilliant romance of ‘Quintus 
Claudius,’ which Clara Bell has done well to translate for us, for 
it is worthy of place beside the Emperor of Ebers and the Aspasia 
of Hamerling. It is a story of Rome in the reign of Domitian, 
and the most noted characters of the time figure in its pages, 
which are a series of picturesque descriptions of Roman life and 
manners in the imperial city, and in those luxurious retreats at 
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from the heats of summer. It is full of stirring scenes in the 
streets, in the palaces, in the temples, and in the amphitheatre, 
and the actors therein represent every phase of Roman character, 
from the treacherous and cowardly Domitian and the vile Domitia 
down to the secret gatherings of the new sect and their exit from 
life in the blood-soaked sands of the arena, where they were torn 
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of all classes at this period were never painted with a bolder 
pencil than by Eckstein in this masterly romance, which displays 
as much scholarship as invention.” — Mail and Express, N. Y. 

“ These neat volumes contain a story first published in German. 
It is written in that style which Ebers has cultivated so success- 
fully. The place is Rome ; the time, that of Dornitian at the end 
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evident from the notes at the foot of nearly every page. The 
author attempted the difficult task of presenting in a single story 
the whole life of Rome, the intrigues of that day which compassed 
the overthrow of Domitian, and the deep fervor and terril)le trials 
of the Christians in the last of the general persecutions. The 
court, the army, the amphitheatre, the catacombs, the evil and 
the good of Roman manhood and womanhood — all are here. 
And the work is done with power and success. It is a book for 
every Christian and for every student, a book of lasting value, 
bringing^more than one nation under obligation to its author. 
New yernsalem Magazine, Boston, Mass. 

neiv Ro 7 nance of Ancient Tii7ies ! The success of Ernst 
Eckstein’s new novel, ‘Quintus Claudius,’ which recently ap- 
peared in Vienna, may fairly be called phenomenal, critics and the 
public unite in praising the work.” — Grazer Morge7ipost. 

“ - Quintus Claudius’ is a finished work of art, capable of 
bearing any analysis, a literary production teeming with instruc- 
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matic changes of mood.” — Pester Lloyd. 

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ASP ASIA. — A Romance, by Kobert Haiiieiiiiig*, from 
the German by Mary J. Safiford, in two vols. Paper, $i.oo. 
Cloth, $1.75. 

“ We have read his work conscientiously, and, we confess, with 
profit. Never have we had so clear an insight into the manners, 
thoughts, and feelings of the ancient Greeks. No study has made 
us so familiar with the age of Pericles. We recognize throughout 
that the author is master of the period of which he treats. More- 
over, looking back upon the work from the end to the beginning, 
we clearly perceive in it a complete unity of purpose not at all 
evident during the reading.” 

Hamerling’s Aspasia, herself the most beautiful woman in 
all Hellas, is the apostle of beauty and of joyousness, the im- 
placable enemy of all that is stern and harsh in life. Unfortunately, 
morality is stern, and had no place among Aspasia’s doctrines. 
This ugly fact, Landor has thrust as far into the background as 
possible. Hamerling obtrudes it. He does not moralize, he 
neither condemns nor praises ; but like a fate, silent, passionless, 
and resistless, he carries the story along, allows the sunshine for 
a time to silver the turbid stream, the butterflies and gnats to flut- 
ter above it in rainbow tints, and then remorselessly draws over 
the landscape gray twilight. He but follows the course of 
history; yet the absolute pitilessness with which he does it is 
almost terrible.” — Extracts fro 7 ?i Revie%v in Yale Literary 
Magazine. 

“No more beautiful chapter can be found in any book of this 
age than that in which Pericles and Aspasia are described as visit- 
ing the poet Sophocles in the garden on the bank of the Cephis- 
sus.” — Utica Morfiing Herald. 

“It is one of the great excellencies of this romance, this lofty 
song of the genius of the Greeks, that it is composed with perfect 
artistic symmetry in the treatment of the diflerent parts, and from 
the first word to the last is thoroughly harmonious in tone and 
coloring. Therefore, in ‘Aspasia,’ we are given a book, which 
could only proceed from the union of an artistic nature and a 
thoughtful mind — a book that does not depict fiery passions in 
dramatic conflict, but with dignified composure, leads the conflict 
therein described to the final catastrophe.” — Allgemeine Zeitnng. 
(Augsburg). 

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GLORIA.— A NOVEL, by B. Perez Gald6s, from the 
Spanish by Clara Bell, in two vols. Paper, $i.oo. Cloth, $1.75 


“ B. Perez Galdos is like a whirlwind, resistless as he sweeps 
everything before him, while beneath, the waters of passion foam 
and heave and are stirred to their depths. Some chapters of this 
novel are absolutely agonizing in their intensity of passion, and 
the surge ahd^rush of words bears the reader along breathless and 
terrified, till he finds himself almost ready to cry out. In others, 
the storm is lulled and the plash of waves is as musical as the 
author’s native tongue. In others still, he drones through the 
lazy summer day, and the reader goes to sleep. However, the 
story as a whole is stormy, and the end tragic ; yet we are lost in 
wonder at the man who can so charm us. 

“ It is throughout a terrible impeachment of religious intoler- 
ance. If it had been written for a people possessing the temper 
of Englishmen or of Americans we should say that it must mark 
an epoch in the political and religious history of the country. Even 
written as it is by a Spaniard, and for Spaniards, allowing as we 
must for Spanish impulsiveness and grandiloquence, which says a 
gi'eat deal to express a very little, we cannot but believe that the 
work is deeply significant. It is written by a young man and one 
who is rapidly rising in power and influence ; and when he speaks 
it is with a vehement earnestness which thrills one with the con- 
viction that Spain is awaking. ‘Fresh air,’ cries he, of Spain, 

‘ open air, free exercise under every wind that blows above or be- 
low ; freedom to be dragged and buffeted, helped or hindered, by 
all the forces that are abroad. Let her tear off her mendicant’s 
hood, her grave-clothes and winding-sheet, and stand forth in the 
bracing storms of the century. Spain is like a man who is ill from 
sheer apprehension, and cannot stir for blisters, plasters, bandages 
and wrap?. Away with all this paraphernalia, and the body will 
recoveries tone and vigor.’ Again : ‘ Rebel, rebel, your intelli- 

gence is your strength. Rise, assert yourself; purge your eyes of 
the dust which darkens them, and look at truth face to face.’ 
Strange language this for Spain of the Inquisition, for bigoted, 
unprogressive. Catholic Spain. The author goes to the root or 
Spanish decadence ; he fearlessly exposes her degradation and de- 
clares its cause. All students of Spanish history will find here 
much that is interesting besides the story .” — Ihe Yale Litera}y 
Magazine. 


William S. Gottsberger^ Publisher^ New York. 


MARIANEIIjA. — By 13. Perez Galdos, from the Spanish 
by Clara Bell, in one vol. Paper, 50 cts. Cloth, 90 cts. 


Galdos is not a novelist, in the sense that now attaches to 
that much-abused word, but a romancer, pure and simple, as 
much so as Hawthorne was, though his intentions are less spir- 
itual, and his methods more material. Marianela is the story 
of a poor, neglected outcast of a girl, an orphan who is tolerated 
by a family of miners, as if she were a dog or a cat ; who is 
fed when the humor takes them and there is any food that can 
be spared, and who is looked down upon by everybody ; and a 
boy Pablo, who is older than she, the son of a well-to-do landed 
proprietor, whose misfortune it is (the boy’s, we mean) that 
he was born blind. His deprivation of sight is almost supplied 
by the eyes of Marianela, who waits upon him, and goes with 
him in his daily wanderings about the mining country of Socartes, 
until he knows the whole country by heart and can when need 
is find his way everywhere alone. As beautiful as she is homely, 
he forms an ideal of her looks, based upon her devotion to 
him, colored by his sensitive, spiritual nature, and he loves her, 
or what he imagines she is, and she returns his love — with fear 
and trembling, for ignorant as she is she knows that she is not 
what he believes her to be. They love as two children might, 
naturally, fervently, entirely. The world contains no woman so 
beautiful as she, and he will marry her. The idyl of this young 
love is prettily told, with simplicity, freshness, and something 
which, if not poetry, is yet poetic. While the course of true love 
is running smooth with them (for it does sometimes in spite of 
Shakespeare) there appears upon the scene a brother of the chief 
engineer of the Socartes mines who is an oculist, and he, after a 
careful examination of the blind eyes of Pablo, undertakes to per- 
form an operation upon them which he thinks may enable the lad 
to see. About this time there also comes upon the scene a brother 
of Pablo’s father, accompanied by his daughter, who is very beau- 
tiful. The operation is successful, and Pablo is made to see. He 
is enchanted with the loveliness of his cousin, and disenchanted of 
his ideal of Marianela, who dies heart-broken at the fate which 
she knew would be hers if he was permitted to see her as she was. 
This is the story of Marianela, which would have grown into a 
poetic romance under the creative mind and shaping hand of 
Hawthorne, and which, as conceived and managed by Galdos, is 
a realistic one of considerable grace and pathos. It possesses the 
charm of directness and simplicity of narrative, is written with 
great picturesqueness, and is colored throughout with impressions 
of Spanish country life .” — The Mail and Express^ New Yo?'kf 
Thursday^ April 12, 1883. 


William S. Gottsberger, Piih Usher ^ New York, 


A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. — How to Graiv and Shaw 
Them! By S. Reynolds Hole, in one volume. Paper, 
50 cts. Cloth, 90 cts. 

“There is a June fragrance about this little book that is par- 
ticularly refreshing, now that we are on the edge — very ragged 
edge, to be sure — of summer. They say the flowers know those 
who love them, and come forth only at their bidding. If this be 
so, surely Mr. Hole should be a successful cultivator, as he is cer- 
tainly an entertaining writer on a subject in which he has long 
been a recognized authority. This is the seventh edition of his 
‘ Book About Roses ’ that has been called for, and in responding 
to the demand the happy author contributes some of the latest re- 
sults of his experience, which will be gratefully received by all 
rosarians. Mr. Hole is an enthusiast, and he communicates much 
of that quality to his pages. It is impossible to read long in this 
charming volume without becoming impressed with a profound 
conviction that a rose is the most perfect thing in creation. Aside 
from its value as a guide to cultivators, whether professional or 
amateur, the work possesses a rare fascination, that partly belongs 
to the subject and partly to its happy manner of treatment. There 
is a vein of playful humor in Mr. Hole’s writing that rarely de- 
generates into flippancy, and occasionally a little flight of senti- 
mentalism that accords well with his theme, mingling agreeably 
enough with the purely scientific disquisitions like a wholesome 
perfume, which is happily not a hot-house, but an out-of-door one. 
We cordially commend this book to all who are interested in the 
cultivation of the queen of flowers.” — Chicago Evening Joiirfial. 

“The whole volume teems with encouraging data and statistics ; 
and, while it is intensely practical, it will interest general readers 
by an unfailing vivacity, which supplies garnish and ornament to 
the array of facts, and furnishes ‘ ana ’ in such rich profusion that 
one might do worse than lay by many of Mr. Hole’s good stories 
for future table-talk.” — Saturday Review, 

“Bt-fs the production of a man who boasts of thirty ‘all Eng- 
land’ cups, whose Roses are always looked for anxiously at 
flower-shows, who took the lion’s share in originating the first 
Rose- Show pur et simple^ whose assistance as judge or amicus 
ctiriae is always courted at such exhibitions. Such a man ‘ ought 
to have something to say worth hearing to those who love the 
Rose,’ and he has said it.” — Gardeners'' Chronicle. 

“A very captivating book, containing a great deal of valuable 
information about the Rose and its culture, given in a style which 
can not fail to please.” — yournal of Horticulture. 

William S. GottsbergeVy Pub Usher y New York, 




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